Listen as My Watch Unwinds
by Zenelly
Summary: You wrap your free arm around yourself tightly, your existence narrowed down to the point of contact between your ear and your phone. He's been missing for a month, and you're just now finding out why. And that does it, you're moving up with him to take care of him, because you can't let him be so far away from you anymore.
1. On the Road

**Disclaimer: **so very not mine.

**Author's Notes: **...NO I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME EITHER.

**Dedications**: To **Evil-Pixie-Dust**, because she is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and to **eiznek-lee-relle **for betaing this for me! It does involve pesterchum, so if you'd rather read it with proper text and things like that, you miiiiiiight want to take a gander at it over on AO3

* * *

**Chapter 1 - On the Road**

* * *

** EB: ha, yeah. i'm going to go now, though. dad's saying something about shopping again, ugh.  
TG: if he gets anymore cooking supplies send the cakes my way im fucking hungry  
TG: bro cant always be trusted to restock the fridge with anything other than shitty swords and smuppet ass  
TG: im being serious man if he makes cake send it to me  
EB: man, I hope he doesn't. too many baked goods. too little time.  
TG: fight the evils of the batterwitch bro  
TG: you can do it  
EB: alright, alright, dave, I'll talk to you later.  
TG: see you egbert**

- - ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 16:57 - -

That is the last thing you heard from John.

Later was apparently a month ago, and by this point, you're about to climb the walls of your small apartment in frustration. A month of radio silence from John isn't something that occurs naturally, John doesn't shut up and he definitely doesn't leave you alone. (And no, you haven't been messaging him almost every day since then, shut up, it isn't you who initiates all of the conversations between you two.)

Oh man, you're going to ignore your own internal narration right there. Shit's just embarrassing. You just… You wonder what happened to the kid. You're worried, if you really want to get technical about it, which you don't. It's just not like him.

You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, biting it bloody as you stare at your screen. You wouldn't admit to watching Pesterchum for John to show up, but that's what you're doing. Hell, that's _all_ you're doing. You're not even working on a new Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff comic. You flex your fingers on the keyboard, wondering if maybe this time he'll answer when you pester him.

The console dings.

You'll deny it to your dying day, but you start at the sudden noise, check the name with your heart pounding high in your throat and-

-It's Rose.

You are _almost_ disappointed. Not enough to not answer, but still. It stings a little.

**- - tentacleTherapist[TT] began pesteringturntechGodhead [TG] at 19:12 - -  
**

TT: Dave, I see that you are online yet again. Thankfully not during school hours for once.  
TG: not now lalonde I really dont need this  
TG: wait no maybe you can...  
TG: rose i need a favor  
TT: Well, this is unusual. Normally, your attempts at coercion tend to involve a greater amount of subtlety.  
TG: not right now okay  
TG: johns not answering anything ive been doing i dont know whats wrong  
TT: ...Yes, his silence has me worried as well. It is unlike him to not answer when he is pestered for this length of time.  
TT: What is your plan of action?  
TG: i was hoping youd have one to be honest...  
TG: wait  
TG: do you know what his phone number is  
TT: ...Not yet. But I shall in a few minutes.  
TG: alright

You tap your fingers anxiously on the keyboard, your toes curling and flexing inside your sneakers. What if something has happened to him? What if he's… You take a deep breath. No, Egbert can't be dead. There's no way he's just... gone. You'd know, right?

The thought catches up with you a second later, and you barely resist the urge to slam your forehead into your palm. (You do roll your eyes at yourself anyway, despite the painful twist the idea drags through you.) God, what the hell idea was that? That was the dumbest thing. He lives in Washington, you live in Texas, there isn't some kind of freaky soul-bond between the two of you. You wouldn't _feel_it or some shit like that.

Nothing from Rose yet. Leaning back in the chair, you stare intently up at the ceiling through your shades, focusing on the minute details of the textured surface tinted dark.

What are you going to do if it is something serious? You're in Texas. You're a three, possibly four day drive from him -not like you could make the drive on your own anyway. Are you just going to have to sit here and wait? You decide as you're biting your nails that it depends on what the issue is, and what the hell is taking Rose so long?

Almost in answer to your thoughts, your Pesterchum dings an alert.

** TT: You are in luck, Strider. Through means I am not going to elaborate on here, I have obtained his phone number.  
TG: id ask but right now i dont actually care  
TG: give me the number**

You scramble for your phone while Rose is writing; you can't disregard the tremors in your hands, not when you have to pick your phone up at least three times before you have a steady hold on it.

"Shit," you murmur shakily, dragging a hand through your hair. "Shit shit shit."

**TT: Calm down, David. I can feel your panic all the way over here.  
TG: fuck you lalonde just give me the damn number already  
TG: dude seriously wtf you waiting for  
TG: lalonde  
TG: hey pay attention fucknuts come on  
TG: no seriously you flighty broad what the fuck are you doing thats taking so long  
TG: rose  
TG: rose seriously  
TT: My apologies. Here it is.**

You add the number to your contacts, go to dial it...

And nothing. God, your hands are shaking way too fucking much for this. He's your friend, isn't he? Haven't heard from him in a month (which is still fucking weird) but you and John are tight. Very tight. Tight enough for it to not be all that strange for you, a person he's never actually met before, to call him up to make sure he's okay, right?

Right, totally. Not strange at all.

You take a deep breath.

_Calling: JOHN EGBERT (dudebro4lyfe or some shit like that)_

…

…

…

Fuck how many times is this damn thing going to ring before John picks up? You resist the urge to start pacing because you're cool, damn it, pacing isn't allowed.

(You pace anyway. No one's around to see you lose even the slightest bit of your cool, except maybe Li'l Cal, but he's a bro, he understands.)

It goes to voicemail.

That doesn't make you feel any better, the twisting pounding of your heart making you dizzy with nerves. You shake your head, press the call button again because damn it, he is _not_ going to evade you for any longer than he already has. _Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—click. _Your heart leaps into your throat, strangling you.

"Hello?" Someone says hesitantly. You swallow heavily, once, twice before you are able to speak to him, because damn it you know without a doubt that this is John.

"Hey, Egbert."

There's a pause. Then, shakily, disbelievingly, John asks, "…Dave? Is… Is that you?"

You laugh, a corner of your mouth quirking up. "Yeah dude, who the hell else would it be? You got some other ladies on the side? I thought we agreed that we were a solo thing."

A weird noise, something like the mix of a laugh and a relieved sob, comes from down the line. "You… You have no idea how happy I am to hear from you. How the hell did you get this number?"

"Shenanigans," you snort, like it's obvious.

"Of course. Can't be anything else like the marvelous Dave Strider getting worried about little ol' John Egbert, right?"

"Yeah, speaking of which, dude, where the fuck have you been? Pesterchum is so silent without your raging manboner for Nic Cage's face."

A beat of silence. For an instant you wonder if you've gone too far, but then you hear John clear his throat awkwardly. "Well, about that. Ahahah... Um. Well. This... aaaugh, this is going to sound so weird, Dave, I swear."

You snort. "Let me be the judge of that. Now what's up? Why haven't I seen you online for an entire month?"

A soft coo and a muttered "I knew you cared" comes from the other end and you roll your eyes at John. But then he goes silent again, coughs, swallows, and Christ, his breath is shaking; you can hear it through the phone. "...Dave, I can't get online because I can't see."

"What, like you broke your glasses? Come on dude, isn't your dad wallowing in the monies? A month is a little long to-"

"No, no ..." And he swallows again. Only this time, you think you hear him sniffle. Is he... crying? Man, that thought is more terrifying than it should be. "No, Dave, I can't see _anything_.

"I went blind."

There is a terrible moment where you expect him to laugh and tell you that he is joking, oh man has he got you good, gullible as always huh Dave, but no, no no, there's only his breathing and yours and eventually it has to break; you have to say, "...really?"

It comes off harsh and disbelieving and you wince, but there's no taking it back now. John makes a noise again (shit he's sobbing, fuck damn it what are you supposed to do at times like this), voice watery as he replies, "Trust me, Dave, I wish I was pranking you too."

"... what the hell happened, man? Last time I checked, you could still see."

"A-Apparently we got into a car crash. Someone just..." and you clench the phone so tightly that you hear it creak in your hand as John takes a shaky breath on the other side of the phone, "Just... ran into us. When I woke up again, I couldn't see." He sniffs, makes a pathetic whimpering sound that was supposed to be a laugh. "Still can't, I guess. That was about a month ago. You were the last person I talked to before … this."

You tap your fingers against your leg. Shit, you should have called him before this. You are his _best bro_ for crying out loud. Forget the distance, the second two days passed, you should have been up there with him, ninja-ed all up into his hospital room.

"Cut that out, Dave."

"Cut what out, dude?" you ask dryly, the too-tight too-casual tone of your voice belying how tightly your hands are twisted into the rough denim of your jeans.

John snorts. "The worrying, you mother hen. I'm fine, okay? I've been out of the hospital for over three weeks now!"

You tap your toes, turn, avoid Li'l Cal's curious gaze. "How's your dad doing?"

"…Uh, well. He… The car…. He didn't…." John's voice, which had started to clear up, thickens and you can almost hear the idiot choking back more tears. You close your eyes in sympathy, your entire being aching to be over in Washington with him. You are useless to him here.

"…Sorry to hear it, bro."

He inhales shakily, whispers, "Yeah, yeah, I… I am too," and fuck his voice is so pitiful. You wrap your free arm around yourself tightly, your existence narrowed down to the point of contact between your ear and your phone.

"Lemme know if there's anything I can do, okay?"

"Of course."

Something occurs to you. "Wait wait, your Dad is… gone, and you are… where exactly?"

"At home," he answers, voice watery.

Your eyes narrow. "…Is anyone there with you?"

"…No?"

"What the fuck do you mean no? You're blind and alone in that house?"

"W-Well, not exactly?" John replies carefully. "I mean, my uncle checks in on me, and he's the one who footed the hospital bill, and he brings groceries by sometimes so I can eat? He takes care of me-"

Because leaving a blind guy alone in a house by himself when he's just lost his dad is_ so_ considerate.

"-so I've been fine, really."

You sigh and narrow your eyes. "That's pretty fucking neglectful, dude. This guy seems sketchy as shit. He should be there _with _you, you know, checking up on you and the like."

"… he's busy?" John offers weakly.

"Yeah don't even. Bro pays more attention than this dude does, and Bro's not even always here." There's a slight shuffling noise behind you, but hey, you figure that's probably Li'l Cal making himself more comfortable. "Do I… Is there anything I can do?"

John sighs. "I don't know. I… I'll let you know if I think of anything?"

You nod even though he can't see you (haa, oh man, that's not going to be cool to think anymore). "You'd better."

Silence reigns for a long few seconds, both of you just listening almost desperately to the other breathe. But eventually, John inhales shakily. "I gotta go, Dave, okay? I have to make my way back to the bedroom. I'll take the phone with me, so feel free to call later, alright?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Alright then." Another pause, and you lower the phone, thinking that he must have hung up, but no, the screen still says you are connected. You raise it up in time to hear him whisper, "I really wish you were here, Dave."

You swallow hard, the sudden lump in your throat making it hard to speak. "Same, Egbert."

"…"

"…"

"…Alright, I should go. I'll… I'll talk you later."

"Yeah. I'll call you later." The line goes dead and you slowly lower the phone from your ear.

Blind.

He hasn't been online because he's been blinded. And he's all alone (which is such bullshit, family protects family, Bro's taught him that much, John's uncle is shit) in a huge house that probably reeks of his now-deceased Dad, and absolutely _no one_ is looking out for him. What you wouldn't give to be in Washington right now. But you're not. You sigh heavily, the breath shuddering out from you, and open your eyes.

Bro is right in front of you.

You startle backwards, just barely restraining your shriek. You're almost certain that the flinch was the only thing that gave away your surprise. Seeing straight through your poker face, he chuckles, standing up straight. "What's up, little dude?" he asks.

Shrug. "Eh, you know, not much, just a friend in distress etcetera etcetera. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about."

"We all know how much worry makes me wrinkle, and you do keep bitching about the smell of my anti-aging creams." Bro claps you on the shoulder before his expression and body language somehow sobers. "Now really, what's going on?"

There's a brief, insane moment where you debate not telling him, but it's brief and definitely insane. "I… John and his dad got in a car accident about a month ago."

"About the time I actually started seeing you around the apartment! I just thought you and your internet girlfriend had a fight or something."

"Dude, you know that I talk mostly to Egbert."

He snorts, and you mentally face-palm because fuck you walked right into whatever he's about to say. "Yeah, exactly what I said."

"Whatever. Point is, John's dad died in the accident, and John isn't able to see for some reason. And his shit family is just throwing money at him without paying attention to anything he actually fucking needs, and he's all alone in Washington and I've never hated being in the infernal furnace that is Texas more." You take a deep breath. You know that you've busted out some rhymes that have taken up more time than that, so why the hell are you so out of breath?

Bro's hand ruffles your hair. You fuss at it until it is back in its proper place, swallow hard. There is a long moment where Bro is just standing next to you, not doing anything (and hell, it's almost kind of nice, even if it is weirding you out a bit) but then he slaps you on the back. "Well, tough luck, kid. Looks like I can expect you around even less than usual."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, like you're one to talk. I don't know, Bro, it just… he shouldn't be alone." He really shouldn't. Egbert is a menace to himself on the best of days, and you can't stand the idea of him being alone and blind, because it's John, he probably can't navigate and he's just going to get hurt. Someone should be there for him. _You_ should be there for him.

You bite the inside of your lip as a crazy idea occurs to you.

"What is it, little dude? That's your thinking-of-serious-shit face."

Maybe, just maybe… "Bro, how difficult would it be for us to move up to Washington and … look after him?"

…

Holy shit, you just made Bro's eyes widen. You mentally mark this day down as one of the rare days where you have broken his nigh-on impenetrable poker face.

Wetting your lips (because he's silent, just watching you, and that means you have to back it up), you explain, "Egbert's helpless in a house that reminds him of his dead dad, his uncle is neglecting him, and he's like family to me. Come on, Bro. Family looks out for family. Above everything else."

He scoffs, crossing his arms. "Yeah, I'm sure he's juuust like _family _to you." But he hasn't said no yet, you notice. He just looks like he's trying to make a decision. You're waiting on tenterhooks for a few minutes before he nods to himself and slaps you on the shoulder. "Alright, little dude, get ready for bed."

You wish you knew what that meant, but the rest of your attempts to talk to him either end up with Bro flash-stepping away or in strife with the two of you flinging assorted weaponry at each other. You suppose that's close enough to getting ready for bed and give up in disgust.

'_Well, I gave it a shot,' _you think as you flip your covers up over your head, disgruntled.

Sleep does not come easily that night. Your mind is full of the thought of John, alone in the dark, and you toss and turn until finally, you slip over the edge of unconsciousness.

* * *

Bro's face right in yours is the first thing you see in the morning. Immediately, you grab your shades, growling out, "Alright what do you want, Bro?"

"What, no good morning? Shit man, I've taught you better than that."

You roll your eyes. "Good morning, you ass, now tell me what you want."

He sits back, crossing his arms. "Pay attention, little dude. What's different this morning?"

"Noth-"

It's about that point when you notice that your room is fucking bare. The bed is pretty much the only thing left untouched in the entire place.

"-ing?" You rub at your face and blame your sudden wakefulness for how slow you are at realizing what's going on. "…Bro, I don't get it."

Bro sighs, shakes his head. "Yeah, thought as much. Come on and get in the car, we're going to Washington."

Your heart pounds loud in your throat, and you stare wide-eyed at your bro. "…Really?"

"Your lady-friend needs us, doesn't he?" Bro barely waits for you to get out of your bed before he strips all the covers off, folding them swiftly. "You said it yourself. Family doesn't leave family hanging. We're the closest thing that he's got, considering that he really doesn't have anyone other than his dumbass uncle." He scoffs under his breath, and you're sure that he's rolling his eyes behind his shades - he has that particular twist to his mouth. "That guy needs to be schooled on proper parenting. Now, get in the car, little dude. It's going to be a long few days."

Throat tight, you nod. "Hey, Bro?" you offer once you're fairly certain that your voice won't crack.

He pauses, halfway out of the room already.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Three days later, you have seen more of Kansas and Wyoming and every other intervening state than you ever wanted to. Endless rolling hills of wheat and hills and mysteriously invisible sheep (seriously, for a state that is reputed to have so many sheep, you don't see a fucking one. At that point, you and Bro are so bored that you start speculating about the existence of dragons in Wyoming because there is no other fucking explanation for the lack of sheep) and you're so tired of hills and driving and scrunching your growing, awkward body into the backseat to sleep.

Bro pulls into a gas station near Seattle in the golden light of sunset, stretches as he fills up the tank again. Leaning back, you prop your feet up on the dash, flex your toes absently. Something taps at the window, and you absently open the door to talk to Bro.

"Do you even know exactly where he lives?" he asks, head tilted down enough that you can see the molten orange of his irises. "I kinda don't want to be kipping out in the back of the car again."

Huh, you can't believe you forgot about that. "Lemme ask Rose."

You pull out your phone as Bro hums an agreement and goes to finish up paying for gas.

**- - turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 18:48 - -**

**TG: lalonde  
TG: lalonde come on answer  
TG: come on surely wizard fanfiction isnt keeping you that occupied  
TG: unless it is  
TG: which really isnt something i wanted to think about especially since youre my cousin  
TG: rose seriously what the hell  
TG: cmon surely you can spare some time from your gay wizard porn and mom-hunting to give a dude an address  
TG: are you really that engrossed  
TG: i swear you are worse than a cat chasing an errant moth around the house you just cannot give up  
TT: Strider, what in the world are you doing?  
TG: what can't a guy want an address without being questioned anymore  
TT: Whose address are we talking about here?  
TG: johns  
TT: Then no, this is not going to slip by without questioning.  
TG: dude i am not up for another conversation about dicks okay  
TT: Interesting that you bring up phalluses without prior prompting. I barely have to think at all about the implications of that.  
TG: rose  
TT: Very well, let me consult my sources.**

By this point, Bro has finished with gas and is tapping intricate beats on the steering wheel, but he sighs in relief and starts driving once you relay the address to him. "Fucking finally," he groans, rubbing one hand behind his shades. "Can't wait to sleep on a real couch."

You tilt your head in agreement and keep pestering Rose.

**TT: Now, David, what in the world are you doing? The last I heard from you was three days ago when you asked for John's number.  
TT: And now you're asking for his house address? It all seems rather suspicious. And worrying.  
TT: David, where are you?  
TG: definitely not in washington thats for surebr / TT: ...  
TG: ...  
TT: I knew it. What's going on with John?  
TG: nothing i want to talk about right now  
TG: i barely even know myself okay ill let you know when i figure it out  
TG: right now i am about as lost as a wee baby lamb who fell off the side of a cliff into an endless labrynthine abyss  
TG: i am bleating for help but no one is coming in to save me  
TG: and it just keeps getting darker and colder and eventually i will die down here  
TG: lost and confused and totally alone  
TG: the only way i could be more confused is if i wasnt as awesome as i am  
TT: I see. Bro's with you, then.  
TG: dude of course  
TG: i still dont have that whole 'license' thing and he probably wouldnt have let me drive on my own  
TG: this drives been fucking murderous though  
TG: if i see another cornstalk anytime between now and the inevitable implosion of the world due to the combined shenanigans of this countrys opinionated asshats it will be too fucking soon  
TG: fucking corn  
TG: dont read into that  
TT: Too late, David my dear.**

You let the corner of your mouth twitch up as the car shudders alarmingly to a stop. Bro only shrugs when you shoot him a questioning look.

"What, it's an old car. We're here, so go on and tell your girl that we made it while I unload the car."

"That stopped being funny when we were still up to our armpits in cornstalks," you grouse, but god, stretching your legs out feels so good that you almost forgive him. He waves a hand in your periphery, sauntering towards the trunk of the car. Taking a deep breath, you look towards the door.

The house is … larger than what you're used to living in. The slime-pogo that John's told you about so many times makes you smile to yourself –and you blithely (nervously) ignore the fact that you're stalling. When you start wondering what kind of tree is in the front yard, you give up and make your way to the front door, hands clenched carefully in your pockets.

(It seems like an interminably long distance. The front landing stretches on forever, taking more steps than it should to cross.)

It's just John.

It's just John.

It's just (hah, yes, because John-anything is _just _John) your best friend. Your friend, your compatriot your… John.

You can be there for him. You have to be, because no one else is anymore, and he'd do it for you, you're sure. Taking a deep breath to steady the sudden _thud-thud_ of your heart, you knock on the door. The wait is interminable, but you eventually hear the soft thuds of someone walking, and by the sound of it, someone pretty unsteady on their feet. You shift your weight, slouch just that bit more, and-

-The door opens.

A dark-haired boy stands on the other side.

He's smaller than you expect; that's the first thing that strikes you. That and the fact that he's still wearing his glasses and he's staring sightlessly at something over your right shoulder. His hair is irreparably tousled, and his glasses are askew - and that confuses you for a second before you remember that the force of habit is strong and difficult to resist. One hand is fisted tightly, nervously, in the front pocket of his blue hoodie. (Your heart, currently racing, calms a little bit, because he's not seriously injured other than his blindness. You had been so worried that maybe he just hadn't mentioned anything else.)

"Hello?" he asks, confused, and you realize that you still haven't spoken yet, which is... probably freaking him out a little.

"Christ, Egbert, you that surprised about your best bro being here?" you joke, throat tight.

The incredulous expression on his face makes your eyes prick and you're stupidly grateful that Bro is getting shit from the car right now because otherwise, you'd never hear the end of it. "...Dave?" he whispers.

"Well duh. Unless you have other best bros that you've failed to mention. Shit man, now I feel like a re-gifted package from someone else that you accepted to be nice but never intended to pull back out of the closet. Way to go, Egbert, way to make a bro feel apprecia-huurk!"

John throws himself at you, a little too far to the right, ruining the smooth flow of your words. He is small and shaking and in your arms, and you pet his head softly, holding him back just as tightly as he's holding on to you.

"Why are you here?" he asks, voice muffled by your chest.

You're about to answer, but you're interrupted by the rap of knuckles against the back of your head. "Family doesn't desert family," Bro answers him, patting John's shoulder, making the dark-haired boy look up, startled and wide-eyed. "We're about the next best thing, so suck it up and deal."

"W-was that-?" John asks as Bro flash-steps past him. There's a loud crash as he drops all the shit he was holding and John winces, half-turning to hear him better. "Are- Is he okay?"

You look past him, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah, he's fine. Just setting everything up in typical Strider fashion."

"Loud and obnoxious?"

"More like suave as shit and you know it."

John's mouth twitches into a smile that starts small and just gets larger. "Sure, let's go with that." He hasn't moved outside the circle of your arms -not like you're about to bring it up because jesus shit, it is so good to see him and know that he's alright; his fingers are curled into the hem of your shirt. "Suave. I c-can't-."

"Why are there buckets of water all around this place?" Bro yells and John's smile turns embarrassed.

"Hehe, well, I didn't want anyone sneaking up on me, and I couldn't exactly put them up on top of doors? So putting them everywhere sorta made sense, I guess."

Bro shrugs, picks them up and moves them. "Not gonna need them anymore, but wise thinking. C'mon, little dude, help me turn this place into an appropriate Strider abode."

You side-eye John for a second before grabbing him by the elbow and tugging him in the direction of the stairs. "Sit down while we work, okay?"

Reluctantly, he lets go of your shirt and fumbles around until he sits heavily on the bottom step, legs curled up to his chest. You barely resist the urge to pet his head as he cocks his head towards the living room, listening to the mess your brother is probably making. Sighing, you slouch off to help him.

In a whirlwind of a few hours, minus a break for pizza, you and Bro are moved in. Bro has set up his typical nest around the couch. You're helping John into bed, taking off his glasses, checking to make sure that his shirt is on the right way, giving in and stroking his hair. With a relieved sigh, John sinks into the bed, locks of dark hair spilling messily against his pillow. Hesitantly, he pats the side of the bed as you turn off his lamp (you don't bother telling him that he's a few inches off). You sit, still touching him on his shoulder so he knows where you are.

"I… I didn't think you'd show up." His hands twist in the bedsheets, and he smiles blindly up at you. "I just… thank you."

Your throat is thick with things you want to say –_you're welcome, of course I came for you, what the hell else was I supposed to do- _but you just hum slightly, nod. The backs of your fingers brush down his cheek, making his eyes close, and you think just maybe, maybe he's content. "Anytime," you finally utter. And then you stand, suddenly uncomfortable. "Alright, sleep. We've been up too long already."

Hurrying to the door, you try to escape before the words in you just billow out in ways you don't want them to. You're stopped by John's voice, soft and lost.

"I'm glad you're here, Dave."

You take a deep breath and smile at him in the darkness of the room, hand fisted tightly around the door frame. He can't see and you can't see, and this is almost like even footing or as close as you're going to get. "Yeah," you sigh, breath-soft. "Me too."

"G'night, Strider."

"…Night, Egbert."

The door swings shut behind you. You clench your shaking hands –_he's okay, he's fine, not dead, not hurt, calm down already-_ and let out a heavy breath.

"Me too."

* * *

**.end chapter 1.**

I have no idea what happened, okay, it was like I blinked and suddenly, there was Homestuck fic.

Reviews, as always, are appreciated and responded to! (If you have any suggestions about characterization as well, I'll gladly take it. I know my character voices are still a little shaky.)


	2. FastSinking Anchor

**Disclaimer: **so very not mine.

**Author's Notes: **...NO I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME EITHER.

**Dedications**: To **Evil-Pixie-Dust**, because she is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and to **eiznek-lee-relle **for betaing this for me! This chapter doesn't contain pesterchum, so you're lucky on that one, but it can still be found on AO3 if you'd like.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Fast-Sinking Anchor**

* * *

You startle awake in the early morning light, and for a disorienting second, you can't tell where you are or why you woke up. Then you hear a high, muffled whine of pain coming from the stairs. _Shit, John, shit shit shi- _but Bro's already there before you can struggle out of your cocoon of blankets; you stumble halfway up the stairs, staring as John waves Bro off, laughing and wincing. He slowly picks himself off the carpet, fumbling for the railing awkwardly as he rambles.

"No, no, it's alright. I'm okay, I promise. I'm fine, just haha, misjudged a step there, see I'm fine! Look, upright and everything!" He almost spreads his arms to make his point, but he wavers and clings to the railing again. "Just not, uh, completely steady, it seems. Yet. You can let me go now."

Bro slowly lets his shoulder go, watching him intently. John tests his weight on one foot and winces, but he stands straight anyway. Seemingly satisfied, Bro shrugs and flash-steps away.

You hope he's making breakfast. Your panicked awakening made you fucking hungry. You wait a few steps below John, watching him hiss as he steps down, and you sigh. He blinks at the noise, cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh, Dave, are you … here too? Please tell me you're here and that I'm not talking to thin air."

"Yeah, two steps below you. Don't worry, I'll move when you start getting too close."

"No, no, just stay there. I'll come down to you. I might need you for support." You hold still as he reaches for you, his fingers hesitantly curling in your shirt again. The twist in your stomach as he smiles is foreign and new and really fucking annoying actually, because you need to focus on getting downstairs so you can see what the cooking situation is. That's the important bit.

…What, it _is._

John feels around to your right, frowning when he gets only empty air. "…I thought Bro was here?"

"Nah, he fucked off downstairs. I'm hoping for breakfast, but eh, likelihood of that is small and decreasing by the second." You slide your hand up his arm until you're holding on to his shoulder. "C'mon, we should make sure he doesn't set anything on fire."

He winces, but follows your urging and leans on you as you make your way downstairs. "Please tell me that he's not actually going to set things on fire."

"Dude, I don't even know if he's cooking. Man just disappeared."

"…oh. That's… normal, right?"

You shrug, concentrating way harder than you need to on the steps below you instead of his soft warmth next to you. "Yeah. You get used to it."

"Don't lie to the kid, little dude." And both you and John jolt hard, John almost slipping down the stairs again. He ends up clinging to you (and shit, you can feel how fast his heart is racing, like a hummingbird in his chest) and waving one arm around until he manages to smack Bro in the shoulder.

John scowls from where his cheek is pressed into your shoulder and smacks Bro again. "God damn it, don't do that! You ass, I'm going to get you back for scaring me like that."

Bro shrugs, smirking. "Yeah, whatever. Point is, you can never predict a Strider's comings and goings."

"Dude, shut up and tell me that you're making food," you chime in.

The smoke alarm takes that moment to go off.

"…Well, I _was._ That noise doesn't mean anything though, right?" Bro sniffs and scratches at his cheek in consideration. "Char brings out the flavor."

John whacks Bro for a third time. "_Go turn it off_!"

Bro looks like he's about to hesitate, but then he sees how you are holding John through his flinching at every beep, how his knuckles are whitened from how tightly he's clinging to you. It's enough that Bro goes to turn everything off in the kitchen (revealing the fiery black mess that remains in the skillet he was using) and you all just end up sort of sitting around the kitchen, staring blankly at the messy countertops.

"… Pizza?" Bro offers.

You and John nod weakly. John gingerly moves out from his position tucked against your side that he's stayed in since you got off the stairs; you silently mourn the loss of his heat against your skin. "It's too early for this," he groans, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and you notice for the first time that he didn't bother putting his glasses on today.

You nudge him with your shoulder. He tilts his head towards you, expression curious and you just shrug. "Sorry for the hassle."

He laughs. "You're a bunch of Striders. Hassle is the least that I expect."

"True enough. We just can't be tamed."

"Apparently, you can't cook either. Unless you want everything microwaved, ordered, raw or burnt."

You snort as Bro paces by with his computer balanced precariously on his wrist. He's typing or something, probably ordering the pizza that he offered earlier, but you're a bit busy watching John's face through your shades. You notice how he twitches towards every sound like a caged animal, nervous and waiting; you notice the dark smudges under his eyes; you wonder how long it's been since he's really relaxed.

You make plenty of noise as you reach for his shoulder, patting it. "Don't worry, dude. We'll get it cleaned up, promise."

He shakes his head, a tired smile crossing his lips. "I'm sure. From now on, though, _I'm _cooking, got that?"

"Whatever you say, man. I dunno what with, though. Place is kinda empty. Ain't even filled up with swords."

"…did you really just say "Ain't"?"

"Shut the fuck up, man, I'm from Texas."

He laughs, delighted. "Now I just have to wait for you to say "y'all" and my life will be complete."

"It's a totally valid contraction."

The two of you argue and heckle each other until pizza shows up, when you continue with your mouths full. Bro's on his computer the entire time, poker face firmly in place, interjecting only occasionally. When the meal ends, Egbert scoots his chair back cautiously, waves his hand until he grabs the counter, stands.

"Alright, we need to go shopping," he announces, staring blankly around the kitchen, face turned away from you. "We can't eat pizza for every meal, and Dave told me we're sorta… out of food. Because I haven't gotten to go shopping yet, y'know, blind as shit and all, but! We're going to do that now!"

Bro looks up from his computer. "_Why_ can't we eat pizza all the time?" he asks, and John turns his head until he's looking a bit more in the right direction. "It's got a bunch of food groups on it. Y'got your vegetables, your meat, your-"

"Please, just stop." John makes a disgusted face.

You sigh, tap your fingers on the table. "That's why, Bro. It's his house, let's go ahead and do it. Get your keys."

"Don't order me around, little dude. The fuck are we even getting, anyway? I have no fucking clue what we need to cook with." Bro cants his head towards John, frowning. "You know what we need, right?"

John blinks. (You are distracted by how clear and blue his eyes are.) "Well, yeah. I was going to write a list for you, but…"

Bro waves a hand, snorting. "Whatever. Just come with us."

If you hadn't been watching John so closely, you wouldn't have seen the way his body suddenly tenses. The way that his hands flex, startled.

"Oh, I uh. I haven't been outside really since…" John rubs his arm, chews on his lip and god you are suddenly overcome with the urge to hold him or pet his hair, anything to calm him down. You can see him shaking from here.

"Should be alright. You'll have me and Dave the whole time. Little dude can even hold your hand the whole time if you'd like." Bro shrugs, but you know that he noticed too. He's too sharp to miss this kind of shit.

As soon as he says it, John's hand is wrapped tightly around your wrist. He smiles up at you, and his expression is covered in all the uncertainty he can't bring himself to mention.

Bro raises one eyebrow. "If you feel like you're gonna throw up, though, tell me to pull the car over. It's already a fucking mess. I don't want it to smell like shit too."

"Will do."

You guide John outside, and he halts the second he steps into the sunlight, raises his face up to the sky. "Oh," he says, almost startled. "That… Man, the sun feels really good today. I'd… Huh, I'd kinda forgotten that."

Bro thumps his shoulder gently. "Move it, little man. This place can't measure up to Texas in terms of fucking heat, but it's still the middle of the goddamned summer."

John just smiles and lets you pile him into the car, buckle him in, and for a while, you think that it's going to be all okay, no hitches whatsoever. John gives vague directions to the grocery store until Bro just sighs and turns on his GPS to get directions himself because John? Is really fucking bad at giving directions. From his sheepish (sickly) smile, this isn't something that's new to him.

You lose yourself staring out the window, watching all of the verdant foliage flash by as Bro navigates towards the grocery store. Washington is really fucking green compared to the concrete you're used to in Texas.

"Pull over."

Your attention snaps instantly over to John. His voice is shaky and weak and goddamn, you didn't know it was possible for someone to turn that shade of white. When the fuck did this happen? The car screeches to the side of the road, John fumbling for the handle before it's even fully stopped. He opens the door as you're undoing your own seatbelt, and you hurry around the back of the car.

"D-Dave?" He reaches out for you, blue eyes striking in his pale face. Taking his hand, you help him out of the car and sit him down on the curb, and your gaze never leaves his face. He buries his face in his hands, breaths coming more like sobs now.

The car turns off. Leaning into you, John clutches at your hand. (You put your arm around him because god, he's shaking like he's about to fall apart.)

"You gonna hurl, little guy?" Bro asks, one hand resting on John's shoulder. He shakes his head jerkily.

"N-No." Deep breath in, tremors all the way. "I don't think so. I just. Cars. Hahaha, yeah. Kinda. Brings up that whole car accident thing." John swallows roughly, leans hard into you, closer, which you didn't know was possible. You are already pressed against him, ankle to shoulder, holding him together when he can't do it himself.

(You feel useless. Fuck, you hate it.)

Cars whizz by as John swallows and cries and shakes and slowly, so slowly, stops and wipes his face. You move away from him only when you're sure that he'll be alright, staring intently through your shades, your joints aching from how hard you were clutching him. He takes a few more deep breaths. Nods.

"Alright, let's … let's try again."

Bro just nods back and helps John back in the car. When you slide in, you move all the way into the middle seat without hesitation, hooking your ankle around John's. He leans into you, still shaking, and you don't even think twice about putting your arm around him again.

You meet Bro's eyes in the rearview mirror and he snorts. "Always figured you'd end up riding bitch, little dude."

"Oh shut the fuck up and drive, jackass."

"Language, bro. I taught you how to swear better than that."

John laughs weakly beside you, and you count that as the victory it is.

Once you get to the grocery store, the shopping itself doesn't take long –though the extended argument that John and Bro have when Bro picks John up and puts him in the cart garners you quite a few odd looks- but the drive back seems interminable. John is pale and sweating in the seat next to you, but he doesn't call for the car to be pulled over on the way home.

You thread your fingers through his and hold him as tightly as he clings to you.

The next few days are… weird. You don't know how to look after John, he doesn't know how to look after himself, and as much as you love Bro, he never really knew how to look after anyone other than himself, much less a blind kid in an unfamiliar home.

There are a few rules of the household though that you figure out through trial and error (and a little bit of yelling on John's part).

John's the only one allowed to cook. After the debacle of Bro's disastrous breakfast, it is clear that his cooking skills extended only to ordering fast food and take-out. You know for a fact that you shouldn't be trusted with much more than a microwave or a sandwich, and yet somehow it feels like a bad idea to trust the blind kid with all of the cooking. But he's good at it, or good at least at directing you to put food where he wants it when it's supposed to be there. Everything comes out edible, so you suppose it'll have to do.

He can, in fact, bathe himself. He doesn't appreciate the irony of a combined Strider-Egbert bath time if the way he shrieked when Bro plopped down in the tub with him is any indication. (You're too busy being stoically amused to analyze the strange mix of disappointment and relief this elicits.)

No strifing inside. This one doesn't need much of an explanation. John says that that's what the yard and roof are for, and you, Li'l Cal, and Bro are always up for a clear battleground.

No one enters his dad's room. Not even John. Especially not John. That place is more off-limits than the West fucking Wing.

Other than that, he's pretty chill with letting you two do your thing. He learns quickly where the turntables have been set up after running into them four or five times, and he finds your rap battles more hilarious than awe inspiring because he has _awful_ taste.

(You wonder, for about a day or so, why he's not insisting that you watch those terrible movies that he likes, and you almost ask him but your brain catches up with you just before you make a really fucking dumb mistake and actually _say it_.)

But John is, at heart, a prankster. And he meant it when he said that he was going to get Bro back.

You're always willing to lend a bro a hand, the two of you snickering to each other as you get it all set up. Buckets here, confetti here, Egbert's pranks, in your opinion, really need some work (possibly some more swords or strifing or something), but you suppose that the old-fashioned sense of it all fits him.

You sprawl casually across the couch in the living room, waiting for Bro to exit the bathroom. (Dude takes way too fucking long in the shower, but hey, gives you more than enough time to set this shit up.) Every time you look at John, though, you have to swallow back your laughter, and the sound of that sets off his little huffing laughs.

The door opens.

(You suppress your laughs as best you can.)

You look over your shoulder just in time to see Bro, clad only in his sunglasses and a towel, thank merciful fuck, cock his head curiously at the bucket in front of him before tapping it with his foot. "What the fuck man? I told you that you didn't need any of this bullshit anymore. You've got yourself a pair of bona fide Strider guard dogs."

Egbert, still looking straight ahead, smiles sunnily and you stifle the urge to laugh with a deep breath in and out. "Well, I just don't feel secure going to sleep without a few buckets lying around. It's been a while since I've slept on my own, what can I say. Sorry if it's an inconvenience to you. Hehehe."

"An inconvenience? Fuck no, little man. Just interesting because really, you don't need this anymore." The tall man leans over and picks up the buckets easily, turning around to dump them in the bathroom, not displacing his towel by a single inch. "How the fuck did you get them outside the door anyway? You're blind as shit."

You cough, trying to turn the laugh that's bubbling up in your belly into something inconspicuous. John doesn't even bother hiding his grin.

Bro looks over at you and apparently you can't get your smile off your face fast enough because his mouth twists. "Oh, I see how it is. Betrayed by my own blood. The retribution I will visit upon you will be swift and wickedly fierce. You will never be prepared enough for the prank war I am about to unleash."

Snorting, you lean back into the couch's cushions and cross your arms. "Like I won't retaliate. The destruction we wreak will be legendary in its expansiveness. It will be the prank war to end all prank wars."

The two of you stare at each other, waiting for the proper moment to initiate the impending rap battle and it isn't until John coughs, tilting his head between you and your brother, that you break the challenging gaze. "Have I been forgotten here? I'm sort of the pranking master, you know."

Bro snorts. "I'll help you get him and I promise not to prank you."

"Deal."

"Oh, and here I wasn't going to prank you because you were going to help me prank him! Way to show bro-solidarity, Egbert, jeez."

John just shrugs expansively, still smiling. "You'll survive."

Bro points his first two fingers between his eyes and yours enough times that you've definitely gotten the message that he's watching you before he walks into the study and-

-promptly dumps the waiting bucket of ice and water straight onto his head.

You cover your mouth as John bursts out into peals of laughter, both of you grinning ear to ear. Bro is fucking _soaked_ and it's awesome, because you managed to catch him off guard for one of the few times in your life. Doesn't matter that he just came out of the shower. Even his shades are askew, you notice as he slowly turns around.

"It is _on," _he hisses.

You run for your life.

John isn't far behind you, hand wrapped around your wrist as you navigate through your predetermined escape route, breathless and laughing, and fuck this is awesome.

He catches you two eventually, of course, flash-stepping in front of you so you crash into him. John giggles helplessly as Bro lifts him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Welp, this fine piece of ass is getting thrown into the oven, I guess. See how _you_ like getting cooked."

John yelps and struggles until Bro finally drops him on the couch, just in time for a phone to go off. You and Bro raise your eyebrows as John pats down his pockets until he finds his phone and in one smooth motion, he lifts it to his ear.

"Hello? … Oh, hey Rose! How are you?" John grins widely, absently fixing his glasses. "What? Yeah, no, I'm fine, I promise. Sorry for-… Dave? Yeah, he's right here, why? … Oh, he's going to be living with me now!"

You wince. Not like she probably hadn't already guessed that, but you can practically feel the upcoming mockery oozing from the phone. You are never going to hear the end of it.

"…You mean he didn't…" John pauses. Searches for your hand, and you step forward to let him find it, surprised at the strength that he grips you with. "Ahaha, right. Um. See, it's a long story… Yeah, yeah of course I'm going to tell you, I just. I dunno. It's hard, you know?" He laughs slightly, nervously. "No I uh… I was in a car accident. About a month ago. My dad … was killed. And I may or … may not have gone blind because of it?"

He's silent for a terrifying expanse of time, getting tenser and tenser by the second. But Lalonde finally says something and the tension immediately breaks. "Yeah, I'm fine other than that," John replies. "I… I'm really glad that Dave's here now. I was kinda alone before that. Yeah. …What?" He cocks his head towards you. "…sure? Hang on."

He takes the phone down from his ear and offers it to you. "She says she wants to talk to you."

"Yeah, because that's not sketch as hell," you grumble as you take the phone. "S'up, Lalonde?"

"I must admit, Dave, this is not the outcome I exactly suspected."

You sigh and rub the bridge of your nose under your shades. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"Though your prior reticence makes much more sense now. I can understand why you wouldn't want to speak of it before. Not without speaking with him first." There is a slight pause as she shifts on her side of the phone. "How is he?"

"…Like Egbert. A total dork." John makes a face at you for that, and you stick your tongue out at him before you remember that he can't see you.

"Strider."

"What, Lalonde. He's… Egbert, okay? What else can I say?"

Rose makes a considering noise that you're not exactly sure is an agreement or not. "How has he been managing his accident?"

"…He seems fine. Nothing really odd other than that whole blind thing."

Sprawling his arm across the back of the couch, John touches your elbow and makes the same, wrinkly nose face. "You know," he whispers. "She could have asked me about all of this."

At the same time, Rose continues, voice dry. "Really. There isn't a thing that is psychologically odd about him despite him having seen someone close to him die in an incredibly gruesome manner."

"Wow, way to bring down the mood, Lalonde. I told you, he's fine. Nothing out of place, just temporarily blind." You rap the back of your knuckles almost fondly against Egbert's skull. "His cranium is too thick to crack with thin shit like that."

The dig is totally worth it for the offended expression that covers John's face.

"David, I don't think you are considering the full implications of what he could have experienced," Rose says seriously, and you tilt your head towards the phone, scowling. "A car crash is no small matter, no matter what happened, but this could have been potentially traumatic, especially given the month of neglect that occurred afterwards. You need to have him see someone, just in case."

Your mouth tightens. "He's fine."

"David-"

"No, Lalonde, listen to me, he's fine. And if he's not, having the Striders around will be enough to fucking help, got that?" You breathe in, out, ignore the concerned eyebrow movements you're getting from Egbert. "We're taking care of him now. Family takes-"

"-Care of family, yes, I know," Rose interjects smoothly. "But if you do have to seek additional aid, remember that I told you so first."

"Whatever, you broad. How're you and your mom doing anyway?"

That gets her off your back for a while as she rambles about how her mom is out to get her yadda yadda, whatever. Eventually, you're able to pass the phone back to Egbert and let him wrap up the conversation while you duck into the bathroom and press shaking hands to your eyes because fuck her, Striders take care of their own. John will be totally fine. No help necessary.

You can handle it.

By the time you get back out to the living room, John has hung up with Rose. He turns his head towards the sound of your footsteps, and you are struck again with how small he seems, with how fragile that makes him, stress bruises still visible in the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You okay, dude?" You ask, hands clenching tight in your pockets.

He blinks and smiles and the expression is just a half-beat off and wrong. "Yeah. Fine. I just… uh. I'm hungry? Wanna help me cook?"

John follows you for the rest of the evening, never wanting to be too far away from you. You keep finding his hand on your arm, his chin on your shoulder, fingers tucked into your belt loops, and his expression is wide and lost. You wonder what the hell Lalonde said to him once you were gone. John won't say, though, not like you can really ask him in the first place.

When you help him into bed that night, it's like he doesn't really want you to leave. You close the door behind you, make your way downstairs until you find your blankets on the floor of the living room.

(You wish you understood the dreading twist in your stomach.)

* * *

You don't know what wakes you up. That seems to be a common theme of the week.

But your eyes are suddenly open, blinking wide in the darkness of the house. You wait for a second, wondering if you can figure it out without having to move, but nothing happens. The house is quiet other than the soft hum of the air conditioning and other appliances, and you can hear the steady noise of Bro breathing from where you are on the floor.

You glance upstairs. You're a little too… aware to go back to sleep. Maybe you should just go ahead and check around to see what's all happening. Can't hurt. Quietly, you sit up, stumble upright. Kitchen first for some water, then upstairs. You shuffle into the kitchen, stick your hands under the faucet, slurp up some of the water there.

Bro's still out when you get back into the living room, and you look up the stairs, taking the time to let your eyes adjust slowly. What in the world could have woken you up? Egbert, maybe? Who knows, maybe the kid needed to piss and fell over?

Seems like something he'd do.

Silently, you make your way up the stairs, checking the bathroom up there. No sign of John, and it looks like his bedroom is closed. Maybe your danger-senses were just fucking with you?

You eye the door for a second before reaching out and turning the handle. Can't hurt to check. The door creaks open and you hold your breath, but it doesn't seem like John notices. You hear him shift, shift, shift restlessly. The darkness in the room has a different quality, seemingly thicker and more present than it is in the hallways, and it takes your eyes a little longer to figure out where John is laying. Once you do, you just watch him in the deep dark of his room, trying to figure out what feels… wrong about this scenario. John twitches again, flipping from one side to the other, and this time, you hear it.

A tiny, little whimper.

"_Dad_. **_No._**"

You're frozen to the spot, a sickening twist to your stomach. You swallow roughly. Shit. He's having… nightmares. Nightmares of the car accident.

You suppose that you should have anticipated this, but somehow, it never occurred to you that he'd have bad dreams when really, you should have made sure that he was okay so many times before this. So many nights alone. Your mind reels with the realization that it's not only the few weeks that you and Bro have been here, it's also the entire month before that he's been alone.

John makes this pitifully high, twisting groan, and your paralysis breaks. You sit down on the edge of his bed carefully, card your fingers through his hair. "Shhh," you whisper, heart pounding high in your throat. "Shhhh…"

His twitching subsides. Turning his nose into the palm of your hand, John breathes out in a long stream broken by hiccupping little sobs. His brow furrows as he inhales, turns over towards you. Heart pounding hard, you try to retract your hand, but he whines when you do.

With a soft smile, you keep stroking his hair. Needy little fucker.

Something must disturb his sleep, though, as he suddenly tenses, eyes flying open. You start for just a second before you remember that he can't see you and continue petting his hair. He shivers, grabs your hand.

"…Dave?" he asks quietly, voice barely over a whisper, unseeing eyes blinking wide in the dark room.

"Yeah, Egbert?"

He breathes out, all of the tension pent up in his frame suddenly dissipating. "Oh good. I thought it had been someone else."

You shift uncomfortably. Idiot. You hadn't thought of that. "My bad." But he smiles up at you, a few inches off like you're getting used to, and shakes his head.

"Just glad it's you and not someone else." His words are molasses-thick with sleep and he turns over on his back, curling his fingers around your hand. "Why're you here?"

"…You were having a nightmare."

He winces. Not surprised then. You'd bet that means he's had them before. "But… You were downstairs! Did I wake you up? Please don't say I was screaming."

"No, I was… already up here." You shrug awkwardly, not bothering to resist the urge to pet his hair again with your free hand. "I woke up on my own and decided to see how my best bro was doing."

John's smile twists slightly, becoming melancholy. "Yeah. Th-thanks for that, Dave."

"What was it about?"

You wince once the words leave your mouth. Real fucking smooth, Strider. _Real _fucking smooth.

He doesn't answer for a long time, the words seemingly difficult to get out. Finally, like the response is being dragged out of him, John answers, "…Dad. The last thing I saw was… well. The car crash, right? But I remember seeing him…" And that's all that he can manage, tears and sobs clogging his throat.

Immediately, you lie down, tug him close to you. You curl tightly around his back, waiting for his shudders to abate (which, of fucking course, doesn't happen). One of your arms slides under his head, the other over his waist to pull him closer and closer, and you bury your nose in the soft hair at the top of his neck, eyes shut tight.

"Shh, hey, I'm sorry, s'cool, alright? Alright, don't think about it, it's cool, it's gonna be okay, you'll see." Your lips ghost his neck as you murmur all of this. His hand grasps yours, and he's shaking, deep, ugly, wrenching sobs tearing out of him, and all you can do is hold him tighter.

God, you wish you were better at this. On impulse, you start humming, soft and slow, raspy. It fills in the spaces where he hiccups for breath, and marginally, he starts relaxing back into you.

You lose track of time there, humming aimlessly at him because_ there's nothing else you can do._

"I just..." and the choked whisper startles you into silence, the tune you had going fading into John's words and breath. He curls up tight, and the bone-deep despair in his voice hurts just to listen to. "I just don't understand why I _survived._"

Oh.

You suck in a breath.

Oh damn. You're fairly certain that your heart isn't supposed to twist like that.

"Why did _I_ survive when… when my dad didn't?" Your body twines with John's, aching to pull him out of this; if only you could pull him out of this with skin to skin contact.

Taking a deep breath, you can feel his spine all against your chest and stomach, feel how he's still crying and how terrifyingly silent it is. "For what it's worth," you offer softly, "I'm so fucking glad you lived. And I think your dad would be too. So don't you feel fucking guilty. You're lucky, and that's it, alright? The only thing to do now is keep going."

He doesn't answer immediately, which you kind of expect, given the circumstances, but after a little bit, John nods, still trembling.

You're unsure how long you lay there wrapped around him, entranced by the synchronization of your breaths. In, out, your stomach against his spine. In and out. You're lost in that rhythm, eyes closed and heart aching for your best friend who has been alone too long.

But you're here now. And he's going to be fine.

Lifting yourself up on one elbow, you look at his face. When the bastard fell asleep, you don't know, but his grip on your hand hasn't really lessened, so you're sort of stuck here until he either wakes up, or lets you go. Bro is going to give you such shit for this in the morning, but you silently lie back down; press your forehead against the back of his skull.

"I've got you, John," you whisper into his skin. "I've got ya. It's gonna be okay now. I'm here, you're not alone. Lemme take care of ya."

These are the things you say to him when he sleeps, your accent coming out and rounding your consonants and vowels into soothing shapes. Like they can erase what happened to him, or like they can make it better. You're helpless in this sort of situation and you know it, and so you cling to him and attempt in vain to make it up to him. Make your absence, your helplessness, better, excusable.

"It's okay, I'm here now." Fingers curl around yours, and you tuck your knees up behind his, trying as hard as you can to get close to him. "I've got you now."

It's useless, because you'll never stop feeling like you should have been able to stop it, like you can absolve his misplaced guilt, and because he'll never know.

"It's okay."

And if those words are a little watery, and there is wetness sliding across the bridge of your nose and your shades, down your cheek, soaking the pillow and John's hair, well. He's not awake. He'll never know.

"It'll be okay."

You hold him closer and hum tuneless songs until sleep finally takes you.

* * *

**.end chapter 2.**

I'll apologize here for not being as quick of a writer as the rest of the Homestuck fandom, but aahhaha, I'll write as slowly/quickly as I can and still make it good! Love you all!

Reviews, as always, are appreciated and responded to! (If you have any suggestions about characterization as well, I'll gladly take it. I know my character voices are still a little shaky.)


	3. You Know I'm a Forgiver

**Disclaimer: **so very not mine.

**Author's Notes: **...NO I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME EITHER.

**Dedications**: To **Evil-Pixie-Dust**, because she is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and to **eiznek-lee-relle and keys2thekingdom **for betaing this for me! This chapter does contain pesterchum, so you're lucky on that one, but it can still be found on AO3 if you'd like.

Also, special dedications to** Juntatsuya** on Tumblr for drawing fanart of the last scene in the second chapter! It can be found here: juntatsuya . tumblr post/26794622419/and-if-those-words-are-a-little-watery-and-there

* * *

**Chapter 3 - You Know I'm a Forgiver **

* * *

Light streaming through the window wakes you in slow increments, and you don't move for the longest time, just breathing in the scent of John's skin. You trace the curve of his cheek and ears with gentle, exploratory fingertips as your mind rouses itself. He's so warm. That's the most you're able to focus on for now, and it's really all you _want _to focus on. He's warm and soft and smells good and you want to take care of him, to make him feel better, to make sure that he doesn't get hurt again because he's your John. Your best bro.

Someone you would die for.

The thought makes your heart lurch in strange ways. Sure, he's your best friend in existence (and you send out a mental apology to Jade and Rose, but you're sure they'd understand), but death? How protective you are of him? That's not exactly…usual, is it?

But then again, all of this awful shit has happened to him, and it all happened when you weren't there to help him and-

-somehow they're related.

You don't want anything else bad to happen to him. He doesn't deserve it. (He didn't deserve the first time, but.)

You prop yourself up on an elbow, careful to not jostle John in his sleep. His eyelashes are so long, you notice in the morning light, and he has a smattering of freckles right across the bridge of his nose, faint, but there. Nowhere near as many as you have, though but you blame that on how much tanner he is than you despite the intensity of the Texas sun.

His nose is slightly crooked, turned up just the barest bit at the tip, and even in sleep his mouth is bowed upwards at the corners. You have this sudden, possessive thought that this smile is yours, because you're there, protecting him. You don't know where it comes from, and you try to put it out of your mind.

Man, how in the world is he so warm? You know he's not running a fever, because it's not the clammy kind of heat. He's just… so warm, so comfortable, tucked against your hips and stomach, and his slightly smaller frame is just at the perfect height to curl up around. Your other hand hasn't moved from John's, fingers still twined loosely together, and he's just so close and so warm that you lie back down, nosing into the hair at the base of his neck.

Just a few more minutes of aimless drowsing can't hurt, right?

You close your eyes, drawing in the smell of his skin and the heavy, cloying air of sleep-scent. Yeah. Can't hurt to just let yourself drift along, John in your arms and that smell all around you.

"Oh man, this is downright domestic."

Fuck.

Never mind.

You jerk your hand back from where it was stroking John's shoulder, lifting yourself up enough to glare daggers at Bro.

He grins back at you, cross-armed in the doorway. "Fucking hell, little dude, you were gettin' cozy as shit with him, weren't you? Do I need to leave so you can have your more _intimate_ cuddle time?"

"Fuck off, Bro," you croak, throat dry. Your voice comes out crackly and dark, and John stirs slightly. You tighten your hand around his soothingly and he subsides with a content little murmur.

Bro stares pointedly. You raise your other hand to flip him off. "I was wondering where you had gotten to. Li'l Cal mentioned that you never made it back to bed after getting up in the middle of the night," Bro says, quieter now as he enters the room.

"Egbert had a nightmare." You have no idea when your arm snuck back around the dark haired boy, pulling him against you again, but you're not going to move it now. "I didn't want him to go back to sleep alone."

"The accident?"

"Yeah."

Bro nods to himself, unsurprised. "Wondered about that."

The two of you are quiet, examining John in your own ways, Bro inscrutable, you with gentle fingertips and wondering eyes. After a while of quiet, you ask, "Do you think he's going to be okay?"

"I don't see why the fuck not. He's got you for a best bro, me as a best big bro, he's not alone anymore. We're taking care of him. It'll work out." Bro shrugs, sits down on the bed next to Egbert's knees, and he reaches out to pat John with just his fingertips. "He'll be fine, little dude."

You nod because you don't want to speak. You don't want to voice your fears and worries about not being enough to help him because fuck that, that shit's weak. Doesn't matter so much if you're not able. What matters is the attempt, and you're going to give it your all. You will be fucked if he doesn't get better because you didn't try hard enough. At the very least, he isn't alone. You'll take care of him. You and Bro both.

John stirs. Bro is out the door in a flash in one of his rare moments of actual fucking tact, and the door swings shut just before John twitches and lets his eyes open. Frowns.

"Dave?"

Swallowing, you nod, then answer, your voice rough. "Yeah, dude?"

"Good morning." And he turns over carefully, hands sliding down your arms like he needs to ground himself there. John smiles towards your larynx, his breath too close and his face is right against yours, your noses brushing together with every inhale, and best friends do not want to nuzzle forward to fit your lips against theirs, what in the world is wrong with you? He's too close and not close enough and it's way too early to deal with this dizzying cyclone of _want._

Eventually, you reply softly, "Morning," and it's full of all of the confused protective impulses you have, all the sorrow and the need to keep him safe, and he wrinkles his nose in confusion, eyes falling shut once more. Before he can ask, you hurriedly say, "Hey, so, wanna direct me through the fucking intricate waltz that results in pancakes again, or are we doing the foxtrot towards cereal?"

He laughs and the moment is gone, the tension that was stringing you tight cut without warning. "Pancakes. I don't know if we have enough milk to fill the stomachs of two black holes on legs with cereal. Do you remember how to get started?"

You do, but you shake your head as he rolls over and gets up carefully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Not a fucking clue, man."

"Shame on you, Dave Strider. It's simple." And he verbally walks you through it as you help him get dressed, tossing him a pair of pants (and studiously looking away, because he's … alluring when he's all sleep-rumpled and what the fuck is wrong with you, he's your best friend). As he pulls a shirt on – backwards, you can't help but notice- you suddenly realize that he's not wearing his glasses today. You frown to yourself. It's not like he needs them, really. And you've only known him for a week or so, so there's no excuse there, but. John Egbert, minus glasses, equals damn, his eyes are really fucking blue and now there's nothing in the way of that, no glare or enhancement you can blame it on.

It's all you can think about while you lead him downstairs and sit him in his chair in the kitchen, where he can listen to you follow his instructions. Your head is so not screwed on right. He's your friend. And you need to stop getting your priorities mixed. John needs you here as a friend, and clearly, your protective urges and teenaged hormones (damn them, the uncooperative little shits) are getting _very _confused.

Bro slinks into the kitchen between one pancake flip and the next, looking somehow immaculate and groggy at the same time, like he totally didn't walk in on you snuggling the shit out of John, and you appreciate the charade, since it's for your sake, not John's. You plop a plateful of breakfast in front of him and in front of John, turning off the stove a few seconds later. There is a comfortable agreement to chow down instead of trying to talk, which you definitely appreciate.

You're about to suggest a movie or something, but Bro's head jerks up and he lifts his hand up to stall you. Following his gaze, you end up watching the front door, John making confused noises behind you.

There's a scratching noise. The jangle of keys

Something jostles in the front door, then a long silence. You step forward, noticing Bro do the same in your periphery. John, having slid off his chair, cocks his head in the corner of your eyes, frowning.

A knock.

"Little dude, answer the door."

You side-eye Bro. "You sure? Could be-"

Another series of knocks.

"Answer the door," he repeats, and you know he's waiting for you to obey, no questions. You snort, but hey, you figure he knows what he's doing. You open the door and are faced with-.

A tall, kind of portly man stands in the doorway, his face severe and disapproving behind his mustache. You have no idea who he is, but the disdainful stare he's giving you makes you want to slug him right in the face. Instead, you swallow the urge and glare back through your shades. "Yeah, can I help you?"

(Bro never said you had to be nice about it.)

The guy's mustache actually _bristles_, how about that. You didn't think that was physically possible. "Yes, you can let me into this house. For _some reason_, my key isn't working."

You're about to open your mouth and ask why the fuck this guy would even have a key when Bro speaks up from behind you. "I changed the locks, dude. Wasn't safe to keep them on when someone unscrupulous could've snuck in here and fucked around with shit."

John makes some noise from his position behind Bro, some vague greeting and it clicks.

Oh.

This must be him. John's uncle.

The son of a bitch who deserted your traumatized best friend for a fucking month.

Bro's hand claps down on your shoulder, effectively halting the aborted lunge you were going to do. Your hackles are raised, and you pull away from Bro's hand in order to calm yourself down because it doesn't matter how much you _want _to pound this asshole's face in, you can't do it. John would probably be so upset with you.

The jackass in the doorway sneers at you, dismissing you with barely more than a glance. That pisses you off too. This guy just pisses the fuck out of you, and god you'd love to challenge him to a strife and kick his ass. End up with your sword against his throat, and you take a deep breath in to calm down. "So," he drawls, condescension dripping from every word. "Can I ask _why_ you're here in the house with my defenseless and blind nephew?"

John scowls, upset at the defenseless part, but he's still tucked protectively behind Bro so Asshole-Uncle doesn't see it.

"Because Dave here is the little dude's best friend. We came up here from Texas when we heard what had happened," Bro answers, voice tight, and you're amazed by the amount of tense restraint you can feel coursing through him. He must be barely holding himself back from punching the douchebag in the face. He has more self-control than you do. "We've been here for about a week and a half now. Where've _you_ been?"

"Busy," Douchebag Uncle answers with a disdainful sniff. "I have my own things to do, you know. I can't afford to look after little Johnny nearly so much as I would like. Work and all." He eyes Bro up and down, then smiles, sickly sweet. "I'm sure you understand."

"Completely," Bro deadpans. His gaze never once wavers from the uncle's face.

Uncle Whatever-The-Fuck flicks a glance at both you and John before returning his gaze to Bro. He keeps shifting from foot to foot and you can't help but to think that in a more primal world, he would never be alpha in anything. His throat would be torn out too fast. "Can we go somewhere to … discuss a few things out of the earshot of the children?"

"Yeah, of course. Study's back this way."

"I am well aware of where my brother's study is."

They walk off, Bro's hands shoved into his pockets. But he doesn't take the time to tell you to not follow, just glances at you as he passes.

You manage to wait until the door closes behind them before you snort, turning towards John. "'Little Johnny'? Who the fuck does this asshole think he is?"

John sniffs, a weak smile tilting his lips. "What, you mean you don't find that funny in an ironic sense? That's weird. Who are you, and what have you done with Dave?"

"Sorry, Dave can't be reached, he's been replaced by someone who gives a flying fuck about you. Me instead of that douchebag. Fuck, I need more insults. The English language doesn't contain nearly enough profanity for me to express my fucking rage." You scuff the carpet with your toe, judging time. After a few moments of waiting in silence, you nod. "That should be long enough. Wanna go eavesdrop?"

John blinks in surprise, his eyebrow rising. "What? Dave, we can't do that. They're talking about stuff!"

You scoff. "Yeah, stuff that concerns you. I'm curious, I'm sure you're tired of being left in the da-" Ooh, bad choice of words, but you're committed now and you have to let it slide with no more than a small wince. "-rk about what's going on with you. So we're going to eavesdrop."

And yeah, there's the scowl you were expecting. Whoops. "I'm in the dark a lot lately. Seems to be a side effect of being blind."

"So, there's no reason for you to be socially blind too! Come on, just follow me. You're going to end up doing it anyway."

His scowl turns self-deprecating. Almost fond. Wait, no, not that kind of fond, damn it. Friendly. "Sometimes, I hate how well you know me." But you know he doesn't mean it, because he offers you his hand to lead him down the hallway.

The two of you are stealthy as shit as you sneak down the hallway, all tip-toes and achingly slow steps. Bro was good to you though, having left the door to the study slightly ajar, barely enough to be noticeable, and you lead John around to the other side of the door, where the crack is, leaning close to hear better. It seems like they're in the middle of talking about John, go fucking figure.

"-don't need to be here. Your presence is superfluous and frankly, a danger to the safety of my nephew."

"We're doing him more good than you have," Bro snaps, and you can hear the creak of his gloves as he flexes his hands. You are intimately familiar with that sound. It normally comes before you get yourself punched straight in the nuts. All shots are fair whilst strifing. You just wish that situation stretched to include this.

"What good do you think you're doing him? He has to go to school soon, you realize, and he has to be treated with care, given his new… condition." Holy shit, if this guy's words dripped any more condescension, you could probably release a whole new line of syrup with his fucking name on it, because _damn_. Condescension flavored syrup. Fit for every dysfunctional and damaging breakfast.

"And the little dude will be there to help him the whole time. I've got him transferred over and everything already-" which is news to you, but not really surprising. You knew that Bro would get it all figured out. "They'll be in all the same classes and-"

"And when Johnny graduates in the spring? What will you do then?"

There's a deadly silence that fills the spaces the tension leaves in the air. John's uncle says, softly, like he's doing them a favor, "Do you even know _why_ he's blind?"

The silence gets worse.

"I did not think so."

"It doesn't matter why," Bro says, and his voice is even and icy, like the glacier coming to take down the Titanic, and you'd hate to be at the other end of that. "He's here, we're here, we're taking care of him, that's that. No questions asked. We're not leaving for any reason, capische? Unless you want to drop off more uncooked groceries for a kid who can't see, you can get the hell out of _our_ house."

Whoops, that's your cue to get away from the door.

There's a derisive sniff from Uncle Twatwaffle and his voice gets louder; you guess that he's turning towards you. "If you want to trouble yourself with a worthless blind child, feel free. I certainly won't stop you."

You turn around, ready to grab John and get back to the living room, but, John's just. Standing there. Your chest twists uncomfortably, a sympathy pain to the absolute devastation that's on John's face, counterpoint to the tears that are streaming down his face.

Right.

_Worthless blind child._

"Oh," John whispers.

Fuck, you're going to kill his uncle.

Until then, you just grab his arm, tug him along behind you as you head upstairs, not even bothering to be quiet this time. Bro knows you were there, you know that, and John's uncle _deserves_ to know that you were there. You go to John's room without pause, pushing him onto the bed (and damn it, hormones, cut it out, this is not teenaged fantasy time, this is fucking comfort time), and curling in around him immediately.

Luckily, John didn't seem to notice your pause. He lets you pull him close, his hands fisting in your shirt like you're some kind of lifeline. His body is wound tight, though, tense and shaking, and you pull his face forward, the length of your body pressing close against his, trying to absorb his sorrow, trying to mold yourself around him.

"Oh," John gasps, broken and sad, face buried in Dave's neck as he shakes apart. "I didn't, I mean, I _knew_, but I didn't…"

"It's okay," you start, and he laughs at you, the sound manic and wild. (He doesn't let you go, which is good, because if John tries to move, you're afraid that he'd notice how hard you're holding on to him.)

"No, it's not. It's not fucking okay, Dave. My own uncle doesn't even…"

And silently, you have to agree with him. It's not okay. John's uncle is wrong and needs to get pummeled into the pavement, which is hopefully what Bro's doing right now.

_Worthless blind child._

Who the fuck even says that to someone?

You pet John's hair gently. "You know it's not true, right? Because it's totally not true."

There's a watery laugh from somewhere around your collarbones. "Dave, you're awful at this. Do all Striders attempt to awkwardly cuddle the feelings out of people without having to talk about it?"

"Yeah, pretty much. You're not man enough for a feelings jam," Bro says from the doorway just before he slides in on John's other side. John doesn't even protest, just pulls Bro closer.

The movie can wait until John stops crying.

* * *

A few hours later finds the three of you in a bizarre mess of blankets and pillows in the living room, Con Air playing in the background while John stares blankly off the side of the screen and mouths the lines to himself. He still tugs at your sleeve, points out a good part to you (perfectly in time, and if that's not disgusting, then you don't know what is, clearly he's seen this too much).

Meanwhile, you have your laptop open are you're chatting with Rose, bitching about John's douche of an uncle because rage is still curled in the pit of your stomach. That's not going to go away. You keep turning the encounter over in your mind, the words he spat at your brother just as he was leaving, just. It won't leave you. And John doesn't need to listen to you rap it out, so instead you'll just bitch at your cousin. She gets it.

**TG: seriously though it just  
TG: pisses me off  
TG: how could he just dismiss something like that so easily?  
TG: johns his nephew for fucks sake  
TG: blind and worthless my fucking ass****  
TT: Yes, David, I am aware. His uncle does raise a valid point, however. Do either you or Bro know why John is blind?  
****TG: nah man not really  
TG: never came up i guess  
TG: best bro was just blind and it was like well shit time to go play nanny and take care of him you know everybody move texas aint it anymore****  
TT: Oh, I know. You two are impossible. Did it never occur to you to ask?  
****TG: obviously not toots  
TG: come on whats the point hes blind alright  
TG: no reason to keep dragging it up****  
TT: Except for the fact that it must have a reason. Why haven't you asked? Perhaps it pertains to his nightmares? You remember, surely, those things that you told me you calmed him down from?**

You blink.

Huh. That's a good point.

"Hey, John?"

"Mmm?" He turns his head towards you, closer to actually _looking_ at you. He's getting better at that. "What is it?"

"Why are you blind?"

Rgh, real smooth, Strider, really. You are the epitome of charismatic and totally not blunt at all, good job. John's mouth twists before he answers slowly, like you're a dumb child.

"Because I got in a car-"

You shake your head, interrupting him. "No no, not that reason. The medical one. Do you know what's actually all backwards in there that's stopping you from seeing?"

He pauses, cocks his head. This time, his voice is curious as he answers, "No… You know, I don't actually… They never gave me a reason, really. Maybe it's written in the medical file somewhere. Hang on, it should be … somewhere…" John almost gets up and starts looking around before he shakes his head with a wry smile. "Ugh, like I'd know. Um. Try the desk in Dad's… study."

Bro's already out of the room before you even try to stand up. You settle back into the mass of blankets, laptop perched on your knees.

**TG: bros on it  
****TT: Why is your brother on it? Did John not have an adequate answer?****  
TG: not in the slightest  
TG: parently the nurses or doctors or whatever never actually told him  
TG: bet the douchebucket knows though  
****TT: Oh right. John's uncle. For a second there, I was concerned about your potential use of harmful feminine hygiene products.  
****TG: har-dee-fucking-hah  
****TT: Keep me up to date, David.****  
TG: stop calling me that**

"What's she saying?" John leans against you like it'll help him understand the conversation, like if he touches your skin, he can somehow share your sight.

So you shrug and don't move away as you tell him, "She's just asking about your medical records and calling me 'David'. Nothing big, really. Just her usual shit." You can feel his body shake as he laughs at you, and it brings the faintest of smiles to your face. Much better, even if John grabs your arm a second later and jostles you, trying to get you to pay attention to the shitty ass movie still playing.

That's curtailed by Bro dropping a manila folder in your lap. John pretty much totally ignores you as you open it (whoops, flipping past _those _pictures, you don't need to see that at all).

The daunting pages stand in front of you and you scowl.

Fucking jargon.

But you buckle down to read them anyway. It takes you a fair while, Con Air playing out in the background before Bro steals the remote from John and puts on another awful movie that both he and John like. For completely different reasons, you're sure. Something about the Mummy. You're not exactly paying attention. No, you're too busy getting a headache from these damn documents.

Eventually, you give up and pull your laptop closer again.

**TG: well that was fucking useful  
TG: not  
****TT: Answers inconclusive?  
****TG: there arent any answers at all  
TG: no really they don't say a damn thing about it  
TG: just  
TG: patient shows no sign of trauma to the vision centers, however he has not regained use of his blahdeeblahdeeblah medical jargon that all adds up to we dont fucking know why this kid cant see just that hes blind as shit****  
TT: Dave, stop freaking out.  
****TG: im not freaking out why would i be freaking out theres no reason for me to flip my shit about anything  
****TT: And yet, somehow, your shit is flipping. But if the doctors had no answer for why John has become unable to see, perhaps you should call them. Maybe they needed to do follow-up work.  
****TG: if they did its not mentioned anywhere in here  
TG: though i could be wrong this shit is difficult to fucking understand  
****TT: I would understand if this is beyond your capacity to understand, given your underdeveloped frontal lobe and inability to deal with your emotions.****  
TG: woah wait that came out of left fucking field  
TG: the fuck are you talking about lalonde  
TG: or what are you implying  
TG: lalonde  
TG: why do you always do this when i ask you important shit  
TG: do i need to sacrifice a cow to the god of answers to get you to pay attention to me for three consecutive minutes  
****TT: Dear, dear, what has that poor virgin cow ever done to you?****  
TG: woah there never said the cow was a virgin  
****TT: Ah, so you're hiding the evidence of you despoiling a hapless bovine then. Clever, but I have seen through your plan.****  
TG: damn it i walked into that one didnt i  
****TT: Yes, yes you did. It was beautiful.  
TT: I have just consulted with Jade. No one decided to warn her about what has been happening with John, which is an unforgivable oversight.  
****TG: oh fuck  
TG: man i have so much apologizing to do to her dont i  
****TT: Yes. But she suggests an interesting interpretation of John's medical records.  
****TG: yeah and whats that  
****TT: That perhaps his blindness is trauma-induced.  
****TG: ...english lalonde****  
TT: He has no medical reason for being blind. His body is completely fine, but his mind has been so scarred by something he has seen, ergo his father's death in front of him, that he has lost his sight.  
TT: She also suggests therapy. Apparently, it can be quite effective in curing this particular malady.**

You snort. Therapy. Yeah. That'll totally help. Everything you know about shrinks suggests the opposite, present company included.

**TG: if that wouldve helped dont you think that his goddamned uncle wouldve payed for it or some shit like that  
****TT: If he is as neglectful as you have made him out to be, then no. I would not be surprised if somewhere in those medical papers is a referral to a psychiatrist. Which I would recommend you look into.  
****TG: fuck that  
****TT: Excuse me?  
****TG: no fuck that  
TG: were here now and were going to make this better for him  
TG: im not going to fucking push him off on someone else like hes a fucking burden  
TG: hes john for fucks sake  
****TT: You are strangely adamant about this.  
****TG: yeah i am  
TG: were going to make this better for him and no one else you got that  
****TT: Calm your metaphorical tits, David. I will still recommend a therapist because you and Bro are not professionals. But for now, you are correct.  
****TG: thank you  
****TT: The best thing for him right now is to have the two of you around. Have you figured out school yet?****  
TG: bro says that im signed up and ready to go with john when this shit goes down  
****TT: That's good. See if there is a support group or something like that there for trauma. Counselors are not therapists, though they can help.  
TT: And don't forget to talk to Jade. She misses her brother. Here's her phone number. Have him call. I can only hold her off for so long.**

She sends it to you. This seems to be a habit of hers, but at least now you know that if you want to get in touch with any of your mutual friends, Rose seems to have the means to obtain practically anything for you. Your throat tightens.

**TG: hey rose?****  
TT: What is it, Dave?**

Ooh, Dave. She's caught on. Feelings time.

**TG: thanks****  
TT: Of course. I'm not one to leave a friend hanging. Now call Jade and pass the phone to John. She's become unreasonable.**

**- - tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:23 - -**

You grin and do as she tells you. It takes a while for Jade to answer her phone, but when she does, her voice is cautious with a jagged undercurrent of excitement. "Dave?"

"Aw man, you ruined the fun of trying to prank call you."

She laughs, relieved. "Don't even, cool kid. I'll talk to you later, but I really need to talk to John, like, right now. Please oh please oh please oh-"

You pass the phone to John, who fumbles for it, takes it with a reluctant smile that turns blinding once he gets it up to his ear. "Jade?"

They end up talking so loudly and enthusiastically that Bro has to pause the movie and go sulk in corner, tapping away on his computer. You leave them to it, content to bury yourself in the mess of blankets and pillows, warmed by yours and John's bodies. Your feet are shoved up against his calves, comfortable and soft, and you lean your head back into soft pillows to think.

Worthless and blind.

Worthless_ because_ he's blind.

Your fingers clench in the soft blankets.

Not to you. Not if you can help it. He's John, he's _your_ John, and his uncle can go fuck himself if he thinks that you and your Bro are going to give up on him.

You stop your line of thinking and forcibly uncurl your fingers. You will be better family, better friends, better everything to John than his uncle could have ever been. There's no way you're replacing his dad, you're just. Bridging the gap. Giving him other things to worry about. Being _there _for him.

Turning your head to the side, you watch John's face as he talks to Jade, watches the bend and curl of his mouth as he smiles and laughs and frowns at the things she says. The stress bruises under his eyes have begun to fade, and he no longer looks like a raccoon. You can tell that yours and Bro's presence has been good for him. It's just a little worrying that you want to hold him close and kiss him until that constant crease between his eyebrows disappears, and these aren't feelings you're used to having about John. They bother you.

John slides his legs up and scrunches his toes against yours, smiling in your general direction.

Your heart pounds louder than it has a right to. You want to kiss him, and now that you've noticed once, you can't stop. You tighten your hands in the blankets again, flick your toes against his in response, and totally don't think about nuzzling against his warm skin, don't think about making him forget everything that's happened, every word his uncle has ever said to him. Don't think about kissing him. Don't think about the way the idea sends a hot curl down your spine, prickling against your skin.

Damn it.

Fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen.

* * *

**.end chapter 3.**

I'll apologize here for not being as quick of a writer as the rest of the Homestuck fandom, but aahhaha, I'll write as slowly/quickly as I can and still make it good! Love you all!

Reviews, as always, are appreciated and responded to! (If you have any suggestions about characterization as well, I'll gladly take it. I know my character voices are still a little shaky.)


	4. this old and empty house

**Disclaimer: **so very not mine.

**Author's Notes: **...NO I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME EITHER.

**Dedications**: To **Evil-Pixie-Dust**, because she is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and to **eiznek-lee-relle and transversepea and bookmarksofglue **for betaing this for me! This chapter does _not_ contain pesterchum, so you're lucky on that one, but it can still be found on AO3 if you'd like.

Also, special dedications to** Juntatsuya** on Tumblr for drawing fanart of the last scene in the second chapter! It can be found here: juntatsuya . tumblr post/26794622419/and-if-those-words-are-a-little-watery-and-there

(keeping that, because hey, tada)

* * *

**Chapter 4 - this old and empty house**

* * *

You wake in darkness.

You wish that it wasn't normal anymore, opening your eyes and seeing absolutely nothing. And maybe it's not exactly ordinary; you still aren't entirely prepared for it, and it definitely bothers you. Carefully, you reach out and fumble for your glasses out of habit, placing them on the bridge of your nose before you swing your legs over the side of your bed and begin the slow shuffle towards your door.

At least, you think your door is this way. There's a clear path on the floor, so as long as you don't step on any clothes, you're on the right path.

You manage to make it that far (but then again, your brain interjects snidely, this part of the journey has never been that hard). The stairs, on the other hand, still make you nervous, because you've ended up falling down them more times than you care to remember, and your legs bear the major brunt of the injuries. Dave's downstairs somewhere and there's a fairly high chance that either he or Bro will hear you before you make it all the way down. There's a part of you that thinks maybe you should move downstairs, but. This is your room. You don't want to change that. Too much has changed already.

Carefully, you place one foot on the top step and begin your slow descent. Every movement you make is careful, and you actually manage to make it all the way down completely fine. You feel a surge of triumph and then a sicker twist of resignation because really? It's only been a few months that you've been blind. And you're fucking gleeful because you managed a set of stairs that wouldn't have given you pause if you had your sight.

Great.

You swallow back your directionless frustration, try to breathe through it and just let it go. Maybe it should say something that you're finally getting upset about your blindness, since you've only been numb to it up until now.

"Hey, you ready for school today, kid?"

Bro's voice startles you, sending your heart racing. You turn your head to your left, try to keep breathing through your surprise and terror because you fucking hate not being able to tell where anyone is, why doesn't anyone understand that? "…Yeah," you finally answer him with a croak. You clear your throat before trying again. "Yeah, I'm glad to get out of the house."

Which is a complete lie. Leaving the house means getting in a car and you only have just gotten the hang of wandering around the house with nothing to guide you, how the fuck are you going to manage a school?

"Alright, good. The little dude is going to be with you the entire time, except for your last period. He's got gym then, and you're going to be in 'group counseling.'" Bro's voice implies his air-quotes, and your mouth forms a smile at his words before your mind catches up to what he actually says.

"Wait, counseling?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't elaborate though, and you frown at him. Or near him. Fuck, this is really aggravating. You cock your head and ask, "What for?"

"Your thing, you know." There's the noise of rustling paper; Bro must be reading the newspaper? Or any number of other things.

Tersely, you reply, "No, actually, I don't."

There's silence.

"You know, the thing that can be fixed that's stopping you from seeing? Didn't Dave tell you?"

The words send a sharp bolt through you and you clench your hands. You … can be fixed? You might be able to see again? _And Dave never said **anything?**_ Your silence must answer for you, because Bro coughs, awkward, before asking.

"You didn't know?"

You work your jaw, breathing in and out like it's your only salvation. "No," you say. "No, I didn't know."

"It's called conversion disorder." Paper rustles right before you hear the drag of a computer against the table. There are typing noises, and Bro hums under his breath. "I looked it up after the little dude was done with the computer a while ago. I wanted to find out if there was something else to be done about it and lo and behold, it's a thing. Have to get you officially diagnosed, but it's a guy's best bet. So I enrolled you in the counselling class to opt you out of PE, which is such a load of bullshit to begin with, and also to hopefully get this fixed? Who knows."

You're about to say something when you hear footsteps behind you. Dave, and he's not trying to be quiet.

"Mornin', dudes," he yawns, and you are _so furious with him_.

"Sup, little dude." Bro's chair scrapes back. "Found out you didn't let John know about the whole conversion disorder or whatever with him? What's up with that?" And his voice is casual, too casual for the vitriol you want, for how you want to make Dave bleed with it.

There's a beat of silence (and you think it feels guilty, _and it should_). "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I wanted to make sure, since, you know, we're really only guessing when it all boils down."

"We?" you ask, and you know that your voice is hard and cracking. "Who else knew before I did?"

You swear you can feel Dave's regard turning towards you and you flex your hands, try to breathe in to calm down. After a few beats of quiet, he answers; it's clear he doesn't know why you're upset or angry and that. That just pisses you off more. "Rose does. She's the one who suggested it."

"So, can anyone tell me why _I_ wasn't told about any of this?" you bite out, tasting the fury in your mouth riding along your tongue. Fuck, was he never going to tell you? Oh yeah, you're not blind because there's _actually _something wrong with you, you're blind because your _brain_ doesn't want to fucking work right. Because that's _so_ much better. "That's so awesome, Dave, yeah, I totally didn't want to know that I can be fixed, or that nothing got messed up with me and that I just need some counseling! And it was so nice that you just didn't say anything at all!"

"I don't see what the big rush is, man-" Dave starts, and you inhale sharply, snap.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe I just don't want the last thing I ever saw to be my dad's bleeding, dead body two feet from my face!"

Fuck, you wish you could see Dave right now, because if he looks half as hurt as you want him to be, as this silence is making him out to be, then you think you could feel vindicated instead of just angry. You realize that the urge to lash out and hurt is probably not the best one you've ever had, but at the moment, you can't bring yourself to really care. You're fucking blind. Blind and it's not your fault and you're not getting better and you have no idea why you're blind in the first place!

"Jesus christ," Dave mutters eventually. "I'm sorry, alright? I just thought that maybe..."

He sighs and shifts and you breathe in fury, breathe out frustration, slowly calm down. As your anger subsides, guilt quietly creeps in to take its place. Ugh, what is _wrong_ with you? You shake your head. No. He didn't tell you. He didn't tell you, and he should have, and you're going to be mad at him.

"You didn't think enough." You make a move to leave and only end up running straight into Dave. For an instant, you feel him grip your shoulders, his breath on your face –close, surprisingly close- and there is a strangely charged silence. You tilt your head, about to ask but-

"Alright, ladies, time for school. Get in the car."

And Dave lets you go like he's been electrocuted.

The car ride is agonizing because you've sufficiently alienated Dave enough that you can't lean against him. So you shake silently until you get to the school. You can't even barrel out of the car once it's pulled to a stop because you're too worried about what might happen. You could run into someone, a car, and your train of thought goes absolutely wild until you feel someone grab your hand.

"Ready?"

God, you wish you could still be furious with him but he's the only thing grounding you. Your head is spinning with the cyclical torrent of your emotions, and you. You just want yourself to calm down, even though you know that just thinking it won't help. You let Dave help you out of the car, grumbling to hide your nerves. The insane chatter and noise typical of school soon overwhelms you, and you are guiltily grateful for Dave's tight grasp on your hand.

School is... school. You missed it, in an abstract sort of way, but the reality is absolutely terrifying. You can't see anything, everyone's too loud, you're missing out on at least half of the material in class because all of the teachers are writing on their blackboards and you're angry at Dave still so he won't - can't - try and talk to you or help you through any of it. There's no snarky commentary in the hallways, merely a wordless hand on your elbow that guides you unerringly through the crowds.

No one tries to talk to you. You're not sure how you feel about that. Maybe they're all tired from break? (More likely, they don't know how to talk to you now that your dad is dead and you're blind and Dave is a constant brooding presence over your shoulder, and fuck, that hurts. But at least they're not wasting their time on you.)

But you eventually get to the last period of the day. Dave claps you awkwardly on the shoulder at the door. There is a terribly pregnant silence between the two of you, and you feel like Dave is going to say something, he is, and then-

He sighs. "See ya, Egbert," Dave says, quiet, and then he's gone, his hand disappearing from your body. You turn to face the room, your heart pounding loudly. You're not ready for this.

Someone touches your arm. You try to not startle too much, but the laugh you get means you probably failed. "Hey, new kid, come sit down already, you're making the rest of us nervous," a girl tells you, her voice teasing. Several other voices agree, probably teachers, maybe students, there are too many for you to separate, and you find yourself quickly ushered into a chair, the person's hands clinical and impersonal and frankly, uncomfortable.

There are some scrapes against the floor (chairs being pulled into position, you're sure), and the teacher starts talking. You're not ashamed to admit that you space out a lot of it. You're angry and tired, and tired of being angry and you just want to go home. (You want Dave, if you're being honest with yourself, but you don't feel like it right now.)

"Alright, Terezi, why don't you go through parts of your day?" the teacher prompts, her voice chipper. "How about how your vision is coping and how your peers have been treating you?"

Someone near you snorts, and you tentatively identify her as the girl who called you 'new kid' earlier. "Fine, I guess. Everyone treated me like losing my sight means that I can't hear them, but eh, their loss. You guys get me. We're all blind here."

And there is something about those words, or the way she laughs afterwards, that hits you the wrong way. You feel struck dumb, somehow, like the air has been stolen from you. You curl over yourself, wanting to say something but not having the words, and you wish that the teacher would skip over you.

Of course, you have no such luck. Because it's absolutely not complete without you being put in the spotlight.

"Alright, well, John, how are you feeling about starting school again? Has your day been going well?"

You lick your lips. "Um," you start, and your voice cracks embarrassingly. "It's been. Okay, I guess? I mean, I'm not used to it yet, and a lot of people aren't used to me being … blind either." There's something else you want to say but….

You don't know what it is. So you let the moment pass, and shrug to signify that you're done.

The teacher doesn't press.

She continues talking to the rest of the group as you space out, drawing into yourself. The … idea, you suppose, about how you're supposed to be reacting to your blindness is sitting very poorly with you, and your mind keeps circling back to it. Are you supposed to just be okay? Because you're not okay, and maybe _that's _what you really wanted to say. You're not okay with being blind and being treated differently, but you need to learn to be okay. You jolt back into the conversation when she starts splitting all of you into groups, and you are left with the enigmatic instructions of "Sit here and talk with these two for the rest of the class, alright?"

Wordlessly, you fidget in your seat, unsure. It takes a moment for someone to speak up, familiar, and you place her, yet again, as the girl who laughed earlier.

"Alright, new kid, how are you really?"

You blink. "What?"

"You don't actually think we buy the bullshit, right? Come on, let us know what you really feel like being blind.

"I hate it." Your words seem to come from a long distance as you lower your voice, making sure to keep your voice down. "I absolutely hate it and everyone expects me to just be fucking fine with this and to _adjust_ like nothing's happened. I'm blind, for fuck's sake, it's different, and I hate it."

"Hey, woah, preaching to the choir here," the girl says, and you hear something tap, tap, before the chair next to you slides back and she sits down heavily in it. "It ain't a cakewalk for the rest of us here, either. But you gotta suck it the fuck up. It's not that bad. It's actually kinda fun."

You take a deep breath and are surprised to find yourself almost completely deflated of your frustration. "It is?"

She laughs. "Well yeah, duh. It's a bit difficult to get used to at first, I bet, but. It's really worth it. And I wouldn't change it for anything. It's me, you know?" Something taps you on the arm, and you turn towards it, confused. "Oh, the name's Terezi, by the way. Nice to meet you."

You almost hold out your hand to shake before you realize that you'd probably miss anyway and instead clench it in your lap. "John. Sorry, for uh, lashing out like that."

"Nah, it's cool." Terezi laughs again, nudging your arm companionably. "Being blind does suck when it first happens. All of us know."

"All of us? Who is _us_?"

"Yeah, Sollux here is blind too, isn't that right?"

"Damn straight," says a male voice, faintly nasal, a lisp curling through his words. You jolt, but stop yourself from making too much noise in case the teacher scolds him for his language. "And unlike Tee-Zee here, I didn't exactly get the luxury of having this bullshit my entire life."

You feel warmth against your right arm as Terezi leans in and stage-whispers, "He got in an accident too, you know. Damaged his brain and now he's blind."

"Oh." You lick your lips and shrug awkwardly, hoping that you're looking in the right direction. "I'm... sorry."

"Don't be."

"What?"

Someone, Sollux probably, shifts gingerly, the denim of his jeans rasping against the plastic seats. "Becoming blind actually helped me a lot. It forced me to face a lot of problems I had, like my temper, and I cooled down because of it. Being blind sort of helped an over-stimulation problem I had too. All in all, I think I'm a better person now. Less angry all the time." He huffs out a bit of laughter. "I do miss being able to see, though. Shit's boring without sight. Speaking of, what do you look like?"

You blink. Your appearance isn't something you've really thought about for a while, and so the question takes you a bit aback. "Short black hair, blue eyes. I used to, well. I wear glasses. Wore glasses. Whatever. Um. My friend, Dave, tells me I'm short, but then again, I bet he's freakishly tall, so that's that. What about you two?"

Beside you, Terezi speaks up. "I have black hair. Can't remember the color of my eyes, though. I think they used to be green? Who knows. Who cares. I have kickin' red shades now, and that's what matters."

"Dark brown hair with heterochromia iridum over here. One blue eye and one brown. I was told that it was cool looking or kinda freaky, depending on the person I was talking to. Hard to tell exactly what my expression was." Sollux scuffs a foot against the floor, the drag of rubber against tile drawing your attention more in his direction. "Now I just wear red and blue lensed glasses, or at least, that's what Eff-eff" -must be a friend of his, FF- "says she got me. Totally worth it. You're not alone in the 'wearing glasses even though you're blind' thing."

A snort comes from you, involuntary and surprising, but you ... like it. Like them. They make you laugh and you. You needed that. You needed to be reminded that this isn't the end of the world, and hey, you can get a few new friends along the way.

"So, John-boy, how clean is your house?" Terezi shoves her feet against yours, and it's companionable and nice and with a sinking realization, you realize that you miss Dave a lot more than you thought earlier. And it's like a punch in the gut, how much it hurts and how badly you want his sarcasm and solely _him_. There, with you _right now_.

"John? Earth to John! Come on, new kid, talk to us!"

You shake yourself. Right. "Sorry. Spaced out. Uh. Not too dirty? I think?"

"Hm. You think?" Terezi scoffs. "Do you fall down or run into stuff?"

"Yeah?"

In unison, Sollux and Terezi chime, "Too cluttered." Terezi continues, though Sollux quiets after that. "You seriously need one of us to come over and fix it for you, make it all nice and pretty. And neat. Neat, mostly. Don't your parents do anything about it?"

You open your mouth, but. Your lungs feel crushed by a sickening grief, one that hasn't left in the months since the accident, only lessened. A suffocating silence chokes the room before Terezi leans in against you. "Sorry," she murmurs, her voice quiet for a change. "Sorry. How about the people you're living with. Have they done anything?"

"Make it worse? They're not neat people. But most of the things they have are soft." Except for the turntables and the futon and all of the cords tangled everywhere, and some of your doubt must show in your voice, because Sollux sighs at you.

"Tee-zee, I vote you go and deal with Jay-en's house." JN? You already warrant a nickname? That probably shouldn't make a warm glow start in your stomach, but it does. "You can still see a little bit, after all."

(You hate yourself for the pang of jealousy that sends through you, but you bite it back. It's not her fault. It's not yours.)

You tune back in as Terezi un-plasters herself from your side. "Get that, John?"

"Get what?"

"I'm going to your house this weekend to case the joint, alright?" Terezi cackles and something hits the floor once, twice. "It'll be fun. I'll get to fix everything that's wrong in your house, and I bet that it's a lot. And I get to harass your live-in family. Man, my weekend is going to be fucking awesome. Sure you don't wanna come along, Bee-man?"

Sollux sighs. "I'm rolling my eyes at you, Tee-zee. I have a thing to go to with Eff-eff. Though, I'm hoping that she doesn't bring _him_ along again."

"You know she will."

"I don't have to like it." Sollux crosses his arms (and you feel a momentary triumph because hah, you're beginning to figure out movements based on sounds, before feeling sick because you still can't fucking see their expressions), growls a little in the back of his throat. "Just like I don't have to like him."

"You'll never like him," Terezi goads, her teasing comfortable and vaguely pre-school. It's comforting in the way that everything about the way Terezi acts is comforting, because she honestly isn't acting like there's something wrong, either with you or with anything else, and that shouldn't hurt but does.

Fuck, fuck, you miss Dave.

God, you can't believe you were such a complete asshole to him.

The bell rings, startling you.

"Alright, smell you later, John." Terezi's chair scrapes back as you struggle out of your seat, casting around blindly (hah) for your backpack. Sollux makes some derogatory noise as he presumably does the same.

"From you," he says, a self-deprecating sort of humor coating his lisping words, "I just wish that wasn't so literal. You need to learn the importance of personal boundaries, Tee-zee. Catch you tomorrow, Jay-en. More bonding, I suppose."

"Now seriously, Bee-man, what_ is_ your deal with that jackass?"

You follow the sounds of their arguing to the door, where the mass of people whisks their noise away and makes you too nervous to continue. Hovering awkwardly in the doorway, you wait. Something undefinable changes, and you reach out, your fingertips encountering warm fabric. You lick your lips. "Dave?"

"Sup."

Some tension you hold drops from you and you twine your fingers in his shirt, unsure of how to apologize for your behavior earlier. Dave grasps your elbow before you can figure out what to say and begins leading you through the crowd and you… decide to wait until later. There's no way you could make yourself heard in this noise and you don't want to stop until you're home now that you've started moving.

Bro grunts at you both as you get in the car. You think it should say something that you barely even remember the car ride once you get home, focusing only on the faint pattern of Dave's breaths as you try and figure out how to talk to him again. It's never been this difficult before. Dave disappears almost the instant he gets you inside the house, the sounds of his sneakers fading as he heads into your Dad's study and closes the door behind him.

The message is loud and clear.

With a sigh, you fumble your way to the couch and sit down, wishing there was something, anything you could do. You want to fix this discomfort between you, but you have no idea how, and so the evening passes in tense silence. Bro says nothing, only orders in pizza in favor of watching the two of you skirt awkwardly around each other trying to make dinner.

Dave doesn't even leave the room for the pizza. Bro has to bring it to him.

God, the silence is killing you.

The sounds of you and Bro eating are muffled by the heavy weight of tension. You sigh, trying to break up the suffocating atmosphere, but the noise is swallowed, enveloped, destroyed. It makes you antsy, restless, and frankly, a bit annoyed. Finally, you set your plate down and turn (you think) towards Bro, because fuck, you need to talk to someone, and …

Well, Dave's not here to talk to right now.

And you've never gotten much of a chance to talk to Bro.

"Hey, Bro?"

"Mm? Sup, littlest dude?"

You twist your hands together, aching to tangibly reaffirm _something_ and hating the fact that you can't. "Why did you move up here?"

Bro snorts. "Because Dave asked me to, and you needed it. Didn't need much more than that. Kid needed to be up here to help his best bro, you know?"

Stifling the urge to say that you still don't understand (he uprooted his entire _life_ for you), you sigh and lick your lips. Shakily, you mutter, "I'm not sure if I ever did this, so I wanted to say thanks."

There's a deliberate pause in the noises coming from Bro's direction. You wait, the tension killing you. A few seconds later, his voice follows, cautious. "What for? I haven't done anything worth thanks."

"Dude, you. You moved from Texas, with no warning, for a kid you've never met. For a kid Dave had never met in real life. That's definitely something." A stool scrapes back on the floor, followed by a few footsteps that you try to keep track of. You jolt slightly when knuckles brush against your skin, a fond tap, you think, the only sort of affectionate contact the Striders would allow themselves.

(But that's not entirely true is it? Dave holds you all the time, stays closer than he ought to, and you miss his little touches because you at least have a constant idea of where he is.)

"Ain't no thang," Bro drawls, deliberately drawing out his accent. He snorts at himself, amused, before he raps you again with his knuckles. "Seriously, don't sweat it, kid. Dave asked, it happened, we're here. You're like family, alright? Striders look out for their own."

"I… that's my point," you attempt to explain, searching for the words you need. "I'm not one of your own. Or at least, if I am, it's news to me. I didn't expect anyone to come take care of me at all because I didn't think I even… deserved to live, you know? Dad…" you swallow, rough. "Dad died. And I. Didn't? I wasn't too surprised when my uncle didn't want to take care of me because I didn't see why I should have been taken care of and-"

Hands pull your shoulders roughly, and you collide with Bro's chest. For a few startled moments, you can't exactly process that Bro just stopped your guilty babbling with a hug, but once you do, you relax into him.

He's warm.

And there's just something about how solid he is that makes you bury your face in Bro's shoulder and cling desperately to him. You try to not think about the fact that he reminds you of your Dad right now and fail miserably, biting your lip to not start shaking.

You don't succeed in doing that either.

"It really isn't a big deal," Bro rumbles, clearly uncomfortable. "I'd do it again if I had to, and you know that."

"But you." You shake your head, breathing into his throat, trying to explain. "It is a big deal, okay? I barely knew you or Dave. And I'm stupidly grateful that you're here now because if you weren't…"

He ruffles your hair with a fond huff of air. "Yeah, yeah, poor little Egbert, wouldn't have survived, yada yada. Just let the Striders take care of you from now on, a'ight? And try to make up with Dave? He'll be a moody little bitch for the longest time if he thinks you're upset at him."

You sigh and make a face against Bro's shoulder. "He's moody? He's the one who decided not to-"

"Hey, none of that. He didn't decide anything. We're making all of this shit up, okay?" Bro sighs and shakes you gently. "The only shit we know is that your blindness isn't something physical. They couldn't find a reason for it to be happening medically. We're extrapolating a lot of bull at the moment to guess. Which is why you're in the "let's talk about our feelings" group while I hunt around for a halfway decent therapist and doctor to get you diagnosed."

Gnawing on your lip, you pull back and hope that you're staring at his eyes and not somewhere-

"Little higher, dude, you're looking at my chin."

-Damn it.

Appropriately, you (hopefully) adjust your gaze to the proper height. "So, you guys… don't really know what's wrong with me?"

"Yep. And the little dude didn't want to say anything until we knew for certain." You can feel Bro shrug in the way his muscles move and you sigh, hating the fact that he has a point. "Didn't want to get your hopes up, you know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Go talk to him. Have a feelings throw-down if you need to. Lemme know if I need to kick up some sick beats for you two, alright?"

And you snort, a farce of laughter, halfheartedly shoving Bro with your shoulder. "Dude, no, feelings raps are only for lame guys like you two. I'm not about to "throw down" with Dave! I'll just… talk to him. Suck it up and say I'm sorry. You know."

Bro laughs, and finally lets you go. "You could always suck something else of his, if you know what I mean."

"God _damn it_, Bro!" Your laughter is more genuine this time, and you try to slug him gentle, but end up missing. Probably by a lot. But Bro catches your hand with his own and does some complicated fiddling around with it that you think is some strange, secret handshake that guys give each other. He ends with a fist bump that's accompanied by some surprisingly dexterous beatboxing as he mumbles something to himself about "breaking it down".

The Striders, you've come to realize, are a strange bunch.

You like them anyway.

You're too amused by listening to Bro to hear anything else, so the unexpected, quiet "Hey, Egbert?" from behind you is startling, to say the least. You twitch, cock your head.

"Dave?"

"Yeah," and this time, you feel him. Dave's hand rests on your arm, and he turns you towards him. "I … Can we talk?"

(From behind you, Bro faux-whispers "Feelings jam" and you barely resist the urge to flip him off.)

Instead, you just say, "Yeah, sure."

You wish you could be surprised when Dave carts you off, but you're not. You don't exactly want to have this conversation with anyone else around; not with how your heart seems to want to beat its way out of your chest, how nervousness is twisting your stomach sickeningly.

He leads you back to the study, and the click of the door closing resounds in the awkward silence. For a few heartbeats, it's clear that neither of you really knows how to begin this. Dave clears his throat at the same time that you draw in a breath, and you shake your head, gesture for him to go first.

"So, sorry for how I've been today," Dave starts, roughly. You tilt your head and snort, but quiet as he continues. "It's not really the greatest, but whatever, I'm over it now, and I hope we're cool again."

"You haven't talked to me all day! How can we be cool if you haven't even talked to me?" you protest. Then you mentally kick yourself. Yeah, good job, John. You haven't made an effort either. Dave honestly doesn't seem to notice as he moves closer to you and grasps you, his hands firm on your shoulders.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've been busy, alright?" But Dave still doesn't explain anything as he directs you into a chair, fusses with something near you.

"Dave, what are you-"

With a sigh, Dave mutters, "Look, I just needed some time to think and make this, alright? Now shut up. And just listen." Dave presses a finger against your lips, stopping what you were about to say, and settles a pair of headphones over your ears. You can't. You can't hear anything. He stays close enough to touch, which is good, because if you lost track of him, you think you might panic. His hand squeezes yours lightly. It's the only preparation you get as suddenly, at the same time you breathe in, music floods through the headphones.

It's... ambient and soft and not at all what you expect from Dave, the beats quiet and muffled while the melody carries on. It's a wordless thing that is somehow familiar, and you can't help but think that you've fallen asleep to this before. The vocals are only a quiet, slightly hoarse hum. Falling up, down, a lilting sort of melody that reminds you so much of a time that you stayed awake to watch the sun rise when you were younger. Black fading to blue, delicate golden and pink tendrils slowly snaking their way across the sky, lighting up the clouds they brush against. And then the orange-red sun peaked its barest slivers over the horizon, growing until you couldn't look at it anymore.

You don't even realize that you're crying until Dave wipes your face for you.

The headphones slide off as you bury your face against his neck, Dave's arms coming up around you as he holds you close. You really do hate this, but god, he reminded you of color and you miss it so bad. You want to see him, and it's only once Dave starts making soft shushing noises that you notice you're saying all of this out loud, the words sounding torn from your throat.

"I'm sorry!" you cry, clinging to Dave. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just-"

"Hate this," he says quietly, petting your head with a strange kind of tenderness. "I know."

And so you shiver into the damp air between his throat and your mouth, breathing heavily as tears slide down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, I was such a dick and I didn't mean to be and I, I don't want to be so mad at you! You moved to be here with me and I feel awful and I-"

"Shh shh." Dave rocks you back and forth and you squeeze your eyes shut (for all the difference it makes). "It's alright. You got a little heated and we both snapped. Whatever. It's all in the past now. We're cool now, right?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome."

You have no idea how long you end up sitting there, cradled in his arms, and you can't really bring yourself to care because everything is alright right now. Dave is still your best friend. He's still here for you. Sure, you still can't see, but that honestly doesn't seem to matter quite as much for once. Dave's here, and you didn't run him off.

The moment when you fall asleep on Dave is lost, but the next thing you know, you're in bed and there's a hand against your cheek. _'Dad?' _you think for an awful, disorienting moment. Then you remember and have to clench your eyes tightly shut, bite back the wave of sadness. You start to clear your throat but-

-something soft touches your forehead, followed by an exhalation that brushes against all of the hair on your face, ruffling them in its wake. You want to move, but.

But some part of you hushes the rest and remains still.

Dave's face rests against yours, his nose nuzzling against your cheek. His breath warms your skin, and you shiver, try to quell it before Dave notices, try to silence your heartbeat because it is pounding too hard, too much, surely Dave is going to _hear_ it. There's another gust of breath and then Dave just.

Sits up. Squeezes your shoulder gently.

Leaves.

You're confused and entirely adrift as Dave closes the door behind him, listening to the soft thuds of his footsteps travel down the stairs.

You wish you knew exactly what Dave was thinking. It's a pipe dream, you know. For an instant there, it almost felt like… a kiss? But no, that probably wasn't it. Dave was… just worried, most likely. The comfort of knowing that Dave is there for you settles the anxious (unbelieving) twist under your sternum, and you resign yourself to an even more intrinsic sort of darkness as sleep pulls you under again.

That one particular spot on your forehead remains warm.

* * *

**.end chapter 4.**

I'll apologize here for not being as quick of a writer as the rest of the Homestuck fandom, but aahhaha, I'll write as slowly/quickly as I can and still make it good! Love you all!

Reviews, as always, are appreciated and responded to! (If you have any suggestions about characterization as well, I'll gladly take it. I know my character voices are still a little shaky.)


End file.
